


Operation: Christmas Presents

by usa123



Series: Operation: Christmas Presents [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Family, Friendship, Gen, General, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-05-15 06:53:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 50,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5775853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usa123/pseuds/usa123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky realizes that no store-bought Christmas gifts can begin to repay the Avengers for all they've done for him. This year, in lieu of physical purchases, he sets out to do something meaningful for each of them. Entire team involved. No slash, no ships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This fic is co-written with the lovely you-cant-just-import-answer who read my original drafts and went, "Great, but what if…"
> 
> Standard disclaimers apply. We own nothing.

Bucky Barnes heard the clock in the main room chime three times and cursed. He'd been lying in the guest bed on Steve's floor of Stark Tower for four hours now, unable to fall asleep. He'd tried every relaxation technique Bruce had taught him, assumed every possible sleeping position from his side to his back to his stomach with varying positions of his arms and legs, and had even tried sleeping on the floor before his back, which had now grown used to the comfort of the modern day mattress, began to ache. No matter what he did, there was this uneasy feeling in his stomach keeping him awake. He'd learned long ago to not ignore these feelings, so he had walked around the floor twice, examining every nook and cranny for a security leak. After also examining the lock on his door, he was fairly confident that his current gut feeling was not the kind where his subconscious had recognized that an attack was imminent and was trying to get his active brain to realize the same.

Which meant it was something he'd done that was keeping him awake, perhaps a lingering memory of how he had acted incorrectly in a particular situation. He exhaled loudly and mentally reviewed the night, hoping he'd come across the source of his discomfort.

He and Steve were in Manhattan for three days to celebrate Christmas with the Avengers. Since Clint, Sam and Rhodey were expected to be with their own families on the actual holiday, Tony and Pepper had arranged a team celebration on the 23rd, attendance mandatory, no exceptions. He and Steve had arrived late on the 22nd and had hit the rack on their designated floor without running into anyone. Steve had a knack for gently correcting Bucky when he said or did something wrong so, since that hadn't happened once either on the subway or in the cab to the Tower, that day was out of the running for his current predicament.

The team had trickled in that next morning, which had been spent playing video games and watching movies just barely in theaters on Stark's absolutely enormous projector screen. Sure, Bucky'd beaten almost everyone, even Steve, at almost all the video games once he'd figured out the complexities of the small plastic remote, but he was (almost) certain that wasn't what was keeping him up.

In the afternoon, he and the rest of the crew disbanded to make (or purchase) the side dishes they were supposed to bring to dinner. Apparently it was tradition for Tony and Pepper to have a homemade Christmas dinner, with no external help involved but, given that the party would be so large this year, they'd asked everyone to bring a side dish or dessert, while they handled the turkeys themselves. He and Steve had used that time to walk down to the corner bakery and purchase a few varieties of pie. They'd arrived back just in time to help set the massive table with more dishware than Bucky had ever seen outside a department store. The food had been excellent and the opening of presents everyone insisted they didn't need was rather fun.

Bucky had recognized this as the perfect occasion to show the Avengers how much he appreciated all they'd done for him and had used the money Fury was working on securing him, now that he was _just_ "missing in action", to buy everyone something meaningful.

For Natasha, who had been one of the first to accept this new version of him and had gone out of her way to make him feel welcome in the modern age (even though she had casually informed him in the middle of sparring practice that she'd also end him if he hurt Steve again), he'd purchased two tickets to the _Nutcracker_ at the Strathmore.

For Clint who had let him spend time with Lucky the Pizza Dog and who had introduced him to volunteer dog-walking at the shelter once a week, he'd secured five vouchers to Disneyland.

For Coulson who distracted him with _Star Wars_ while the rest of the Avengers were on a mission, he had broken into the SHIELD agent's office and signed his framed Bucky Barnes trading cards.

For Sam, who'd quickly encouraged Bucky to try therapy, supported him until he caved a month ago, then helped him find someone who wasn't going to be scared off by his history, Bucky had bought a Falcon action figure and paired it with an 8x10 of a group of school-aged kids all in Captain America and Falcon gear who had trick-or-treated by the Tower last Halloween.

For Tony who had allowed him to stay in the Tower and who had fixed his arm when the servos started to wear, he'd knitted (yes, _knitted_. Sam was encouraging him to use his hand for good and he had discovered he had killer small stitches when he led with his left) a hat with a blue reactor on the front, as well as a scarf for Pepper, who sat quietly with him in the common room and listened to the stories he remembered about the good ol' days.

For Bruce, who had taught him how to meditate and how to not let his anger control his life, he made sure there was a variety of tea in the Tower, never the same one brand or flavor twice.

For Thor, who wasn't around much but who Bucky would have felt bad not having a gift for, he'd gotten a book of idioms.

Steve was the hardest. Nothing he found seemed good enough for the man who'd searched tirelessly for him for years. (Bucky still felt kinda bad about that, but he hadn't been in the right place to be a full part of Steve's life; there had been too many things he still needed to figure out, too many things he'd still needed to overcome.) He'd ended up buying Steve a holiday sweater and a box of art supplies. He knew neither item was the greatest gift but he'd put legitimate effort into both of them, trying on every sweater in the department store searching for the warmest and fluffiest one there—the fact that it had a shield on it only made it more perfect—and researching the best brand of art supplies before making his purchase. Steve's eyes had lit up as he'd opened them and he'd genuinely thanked Bucky, so the former assassin couldn't have been that far off track.

_Then what was the problem?_

_You could go ask Steve_ , his brain offered, but Barnes quickly shook his head. He'd inadvertently woken Steve too many times over the last few months with his nightmares; he wasn't going to rob his friend of an opportunity to sleep through the night, especially for something as trivial as this.

So he grimaced and flopped onto his back, hoping that his reminiscing would appease his overactive brain enough to allow him to sleep.

Ten minutes of conscious misery later, he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

"JARVIS?"

"Yes, Sergeant Barnes?" the disembodied voice responded.

"Did I do something wrong tonight?"

"Not at all. Your actions were appropriate and well-timed. I do believe your gifts were well-received too."

"I thought so." This being his only chance to gauge his new friends' reactions, Bucky had watched them closely after they had unwrapped their gifts, looking for any sign that he'd made a mistake, but he had found none—in his considerable experience, everyone seemed to genuinely enjoy their gifts.

"So what appears to be troubling you?"

Bucky was quiet for a long moment. "I guess it just didn't feel like enough," he decided.

"If I may, sir?" JARVIS spoke up after a brief pause. When Bucky nodded, the AI proceeded, as his protocol dictated he was allowed to see into a room if its occupant spoke to him first, "Not all gifts have to be purchased in a store."

In that instant, Bucky could almost physically feel something click in his brain. JARVIS was right: very few of the things the Avengers had given him were physical objects. Most were their time, acceptance and trust. If he wanted to repay that, he needed to find something on that caliber: a moment, an experience, a show of gratitude, not a token.

His heartbeat slowed slightly and he felt an odd feeling, one might call it _peace_ , wash over him. That was it then; that was what had been bothering him. Now that he'd identified the source of his comfort, he could begin to fix it...tomorrow. Even super-soldiers needed their sleep.

"Thanks JARVIS," Bucky said as he rolled onto his side and fell asleep almost instantly.

* * *

He began this mission as he would any other: with copious, almost excessive, amounts of planning. With so many gifts to arrange and only a year to do it, he was going to have to really work to pay them all their due diligence.

Grabbing some loose-leaf paper from the office, he wrote one name at the top of each page, underlined it, then folded the sheet in half vertically. (In the past, he would have just written on a wall but apparently that was frowned upon. Also he'd be leaving in two days so he needed a solution that was portable.) He'd written Coulson and Thor's names down as well but Coulson's gift fell well within the parameters of his new mission and he wouldn't know what to get Thor if his life depended on it, so he'd quickly crumpled up their sheets and lobbed them into the trash can with perfect accuracy.

Then he sat down in the middle of his room, the sheets spread around him like petals on a flower and brainstormed, and began recording all the things that would show how grateful he was, on the respective pages. He scribbled down whatever popped into his brain, trying to stay away from the physical things and focusing on things from the heart. When he was finished about twenty minutes later, Tony's page was almost empty, as was, surprisingly, Steve's—nothing Bucky could think of would begin to repay everything his friend had endured to bring him back.

Bucky stared at them for another moment, his brow crinkling as he thought hard about ideas for both of them. When he still came up with nothing, he moved the two sheets to a pile off to his right. He'd save those two until he could come up an idea that was really worth doing.

Then he looked at the rest of the papers: Bruce's had a few ideas, but nothing that jumped out at him, neither did anything Clint's, so he added them to the "later" pile. That left Sam and Natasha.

Bucky picked up Sam and Natasha's sheets, one in each hand, and stared at them. Both were filled with very solid ideas that the recipients were going to love. When he could find no other means to pick between them, he evaluated them for difficulty and length. In the end, he chose Natasha, as hers required the most long-term planning.

He had a feeling he hadn't been wrong about getting her the ballet tickets—he'd seen how her eyes had lit up, despite her effort to hide it. He'd been clued into that gift by quick flashes of a young ballerina in his dreams, spinning, smiling, laughing, her moves effortless despite all that was being taught to her. He wasn't immediately sure it _was_ Natasha but the first time they'd made eye contact after the dream, he'd recognized her unmistakable green eyes _._

Unfortunately, he knew far too well what it was like to acquire skills for an unpleasant purpose. There were things he himself had been taught, things that he might have genuinely enjoyed if he'd learned them under different circumstances, but they were now colored with memories of the past, of why he'd learned that skill in the first place. He didn't want that to be true for Natasha, who had been taught ballet as a means of getting her quickly across borders for missions, especially since he'd seen how beautifully she danced. She really had had a passion for ballet; in a different situation, he was sure she could have made a career out of it.

Therefore, his present to Natasha was going to be to reintroduce her to her love of ballet. What better way to do that than having her actually dance in front of an audience again, to watch as they were entertained by her skill, to dance for no other reason than to _feel,_ and to be allowed to revel in her accomplishment when it was over instead of being whisked away to perform a hit.

He'd immediately started to research opportunities for Natasha to audition and quickly found out that any performance by a major company would be out, as the company would choose within their ranks for a performance. That limited his options to a local theater or troupe. He'd scoured both the Tri-State and Manhattan area before discovering the ad for a local theater's production of _Swan Lake_. It was the only one that fit the timeline so he didn't really have a choice in that regard, but as he read the description of the ballet, his eyes landed on the bolded text at the bottom of the flyer, "Those auditioning for Odette or Odile will be required to dance both the white and black swan" _._ A wide grin came to Bucky's face as he realized this was going to be the perfect play for Natasha to rediscover what she had lost.

Now came the tricky part: he didn't want to be the deciding force in her decision to audition. If he did so, she might resent him if it went badly or have a different reason for deciding to see it through, other than reclaiming her love of the sport. If she was going to do it, he wanted it to be wholeheartedly her own idea. So he started leaving copies of the audition flyer around the house, buried in the midst of bills or paperwork or junk mail, so as not to be too obvious. JARVIS, upon realizing what Bucky had planned, had even chipped in and programmed the flyer to show up on her internet browser—not too much that it'd be noticed, but enough to plant the idea in her subconscious.

But despite Bucky's desire to remain inconspicuous, he returned to Steve's floor three days later to discover Natasha waiting for him outside the elevator.

"It's you, isn't it?" she asked, holding up a copy of the flyer, her expression _daring_ him to lie to her.

Bucky struggled for a moment, knowing his plan was ruined if he confessed. But he quickly read the set of her posture and the intensity of her glare and knew it wasn't worth lying about.

He took a deep breath and shook his head.

Natasha stared at him for a moment more. "Stop," she stated as she turned and began to walk away.

"Natasha, wait!" Bucky hefted his grocery bags onto his metal arm and hurried after her.

"I'm not auditioning, Barnes."

" _Why_ not?"

Natasha stopped so abruptly that Bucky was forced to slide left to avoid a collision. "Why not? First off, my job. I can't exactly ask for four months off to dedicate to a performance. Two, I'm a publicly known master assassin. The cast isn't going to want someone like that even in the room with them. Three, even if those weren't true, I'm not in shape."

"Natasha," Bucky was quick to reply. He held up three fingers of his flesh hand and ticked them off as he went. "One, SHIELD doesn't exist anymore. You can have as much time off as you want. Two, that'll be their loss, but you have to try. Three, don't injure me for saying this but," he paused to quickly drag his gaze down the length of her body, not in a lewd way, but in a manner of genuine confusion, as if he couldn't figure out why she thought that, "you're in fine shape. They'd be lucky to have you."

Natasha stared at him coolly. Barnes felt a shiver run down his spine but refused to look away.

"Why is this so important to you?" she asked after a moment.

Bucky didn't immediately respond, unable to find the words to describe exactly why she needed to do this. "You deserve to be happy," he finally said, surprising even himself with his directness.

For a brief moment, her façade shattered and he saw the confusion and the question hidden behind it. "Excuse me?" she ground out, as she quickly shoved a blank expression back onto her face.

Bucky cursed under his breath.  She was obviously expecting him to make some sort of grand speech here. The big motivating presentations really weren’t his style though—Steve had always been so much better at them. 

But he was going to have to say something in order to keep this operation on track.  He thought for a long moment, then said, "I am not the Bucky Steve remembers. But I'm not entirely the Winter Soldier either. I'm both...and neither...all at the same time. I had to learn how to live with the things they gave me," he lifted his metal arm slightly, almost subconsciously, and curled his fingers into a loose fist. "Don't let them keep ballet from you."

She stared at him silently for a beat, a myriad of expressions crossing her face. "Bucky, I—"

But Barnes just shook his head, unable to take any more emotion today. "Just...think about it, okay?" he implored as he quickly stepped past her and walked quickly toward the kitchen at the end of the hallway.

Unbeknownst to him, she nodded. After all the work he'd put into this, she could at least do that much.

* * *

Next Saturday at 8 AM, Natasha stood outside the studio on the other side of town, wearing leggings and a white shirt hanging off one shoulder, revealing the strap of her bright red sports bra. Her newly dyed brownish/blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail so loose, it would have been forbidden back in the day. Back in the motherland, it was high ballet buns so tight she would feel her eyes lengthening or they chopped off your hair so the young girls wouldn't have to worry about it. She'd be lying if she said going to this audition dressed and made-up the way she wanted to be wasn't giving her a certain amount of pleasure.

In her duffel bag were her old shoes, worn and ratty. She probably should have thrown them away ages ago, as they were a liability in her field, a tie to her past jobs, but she just couldn't do it. Barnes was right—there was a part of her that was always going to love ballet, no matter the circumstances under which she'd been taught. And it might actually be _fun_ to pick it up again, now that she had the time to reinvent herself.

It had taken her almost a week to decide to attend the audition but in the end, she agreed to go as long as she kept two promises. One, she wasn't going to practice any more than usual going into the audition—there was no need to get excited about something that might not be—and two, she was going to use an alias. Nadia Reisman was going to be just another woman who enjoyed ballet, cherry-picked to have all of Natasha's best attributes. Any other details she could ad-lib as the situation required.

Was this a bad idea? At moments, it seemed like one, but Natasha would again be lying if she said she hadn't felt a little bit excited when she saw that flyer. As much as she hated to admit it, Barnes was right again: she could at least try.

Maybe the universe would decide she deserved that much.

So she took a deep breath to center herself and stepped into the loud studio.

* * *

Three hours later, she walked back in to the Avengers Tower, a stunned expression plastered over her face.

Clint, Steve and Bucky were sitting in the common room, playing Mario Kart on the Wii++ Nintendo had sent to Tony to beta before its release next year. As soon as she entered, Clint, the only person she had confided in about the rehearsal, dropped his controller onto the couch and stood. "Well?" he asked, motioning widely with his hands.

"I got the part," she muttered, finally looking up from the wood floor and meeting his excited gaze.

Clint threw his hands into the air. "You got the part!" he repeated excitedly.

"Who got the part?" Tony asked as he entered from the private stairwell to his lab.

"Me." Natasha smiled and allowed that realization to finally sink in. "I got the part," she repeated, this time more confidently.

"What part?" Steve asked, as he too rose to his feet to congratulate her. He didn't really care what the accomplishment was exactly; all that mattered was the sheer joy radiating from her expression, a look he hadn't seen in a long while.

"Odette," Natasha replied, in almost disbelief. "I auditioned for _Swan Lake_ —a local production, nothing too fancy—and they want me to be Odette."

"Don't do that," Clint ordered, staring sternly at Natasha. "The self-deprecating bit. It doesn't matter who is hosting it. This is a wonderful opportunity for you."

"Who's going to be Odette?" Pepper asked as she poked her head out of an adjacent office.

"I am."

Pepper grinned widely. "That's wonderful. Let me finish up my conference call and we'll celebrate."

By this time, the rest of her team had crowded around her and were hugging (which she discovered she didn't mind as much anymore) and congratulating her.

"You're going to do great."

"Can we come watch?"

"When do you rehearse?"

Then Bucky's voice rang out over the din. "Did you accept?" he asked, from his position on the couch.

The other men all turned to face her.

She nodded, her smile so wide the corners of her mouth almost reached her eyes. "I did."

The celebration ratcheted up a notch and a trip to the kitchen was made to acquire champagne. In the midst of the hubbub, Natasha caught Bucky's gaze and nodded her thanks. He made a dismissive gesture with his hand but followed the rest of the team into the massive room with an equally large grin on his face.

* * *

The next few months passed quickly as Natasha rehearsed almost every day. When she wasn't in the studio, she was stretching in the training room or working on smoothing out difficult bits of choreography. On occasion, she even asked Bucky to help her practice her partner routines—she'd made the mistake of asking Steve once and, though he'd meant well, she'd ended up with more bruises on her feet than improvements. It seems that Bucky still had a grasp of what they had been taught back in the day and despite his initial reservations, he seemed to enjoy helping her out in any way he could; also, his super-strength was also very helpful for practicing her lifts.

Apparently the universe had decided to grant her a little bit of favor, for only once in four months did Avenging interfere with her rehearsals. When she'd received the call, she had faked the stomach flu (it would give her understudy a chance to practice, she rationalized) and pulled on the red wig she wore only on Avengers' business. The battle against the enhanced superflys didn't last long, thanks to the modified EMP Tony had built to take down the Doombots, but for the next week she had to spend an extra hour at home daubing cover-up on the bruises that were visible outside her leotard.

She didn't really care though because dancing again was worth it. Sure she'd danced since she defected, but it had been mostly for training purposes and never just... _because._ Now, with each rehearsal, no matter how repetitive, she felt a small part of her coming alive again. This wasn't like when she started experiencing living after Clint had helped her defect, which had felt like the sun coming out for the first time in the spring, but it was touching her soul all the same. Over the years, she'd developed a good handle on living, having an opinion about mundane things and her likes and dislikes, but somewhere along the line she seemed to have forgotten about doing things just because they made her happy. Bucky, however inadvertently, had helped her remember that.

It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows though. It had been a long time since she'd danced this seriously and her body was no longer used to it. Her feet ached constantly, raw, blistered and split, her muscles ached from stretching and regaining her flexibility, her body was one more routine away from quitting entirely, but there was something in all this that felt familiar and she welcomed it with open arms.

Their first show was Friday evening, the first weekend in April. As per usual, she had to be backstage four hours early to deal with last minute costume or make-up choices. Most of this time was spent conversing with her de facto troupe and calming the nerves of the six-year-olds who would be milling around the park in the opening scene. They were sons, daughters, nieces, nephews or charges of the adult dancers. After seeing their bored expressions when being repeatedly dragged to rehearsal, Michael, the director, had worked them into a scene, which seemed to drastically improve their moods. Due to their continued presence, he'd also chosen the Disneyfied version of _Swan Lake_ , where both Odette and Siegfried survived and spent the rest of their years madly in love with each other.

About half an hour before curtain, Natasha heard someone approaching from behind her. She tensed, but relaxed when she heard Michael clear his throat.

When she had turned around and smiled a greeting, he held out a thick program to her. "Here."

"Thank you," she replied, accepting it. She was expecting him to walk away, as he rarely stayed in one place for long, but he remained standing in front of her.

"Look at it," he prompted, a wide grin on his face.

Natasha's gut tightened ever so slightly but she forced herself to keep smiling. "Sure," she said, flipping open the booklet. Her eyes were instantly drawn to what he wanted to show her: there on the first page in the casting notes was the bio she had forged, but the picture she'd submitted of her with her dark blond hair had been replaced with a photo from a few years back of her with long red curls. Additionally, the bio was titled "Natasha Romanoff" not "Nadia Reisman".

Natasha looked up at Michael, unable to keep the expression of betrayal off her face. She couldn't dance now, not with this information out there. When she'd spilled all Hydra's secrets onto the internet, she was more than aware she had spilled her own. But it hadn't mattered—her secrets weren't worth the evil Hydra would have continued to unleash if she hadn't. With the amount of popularity Shieldgate had brought, her name and identity were definitely public knowledge. Which means that more than a handful of people from the printers to the stuffers knew where she actually was.

It was too dangerous for her to stay. She couldn't risk everyone else's lives for something as trivial as a performance, no matter how much she wanted it.

"I have to go," she muttered, feeling tears sting at the back of her eyes. She'd allowed herself to look forward to this, to hope that she was finally allowed to _be_. And look where it had gotten her: disappointed once again.

"Natasha, wait," Michael said, hurrying to catch up to her. He grabbed her arm before she could hit the push bar on the door but she easily broke his grip.

"Why would you do this?" she asked, fighting to keep her expression neutral despite the tears welling in her eyes.

"Because we don't care about your past," Michael said. "None of us do." As if on cue, a few more heads poked into the hallway and nodded their agreement. "All we care about is you and the joy you bring through your dance."

"You know I can't stay." There was too much at stake. She'd come to like all the people in the company through their long hours spent together and couldn't do anything to risk their lives.

"You can," Michael interjected. "I've already asked Mr. Stark to handle security. With the number of people he brought, nothing is going to happen in the next three hours."

Natasha shook her head quickly back and forth, but she didn't reach for the bar again. As much as she knew she should leave, she _wanted_ this. "No," she said, with less conviction.

"Come, Natasha," he reached out and slowly wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Stay here. And just dance. At least for tonight."

She felt a soft hand on her other arm and spun around to see Elizabeth, her understudy. "Go for it," she said with a soft smile. "You deserve it."

Though that was not Elizabeth's intention, those words snapped Natasha back to reality. Romanoff ducked under Michael's arm, in the process freeing herself from Elizabeth's grip. "I can't," she muttered, pushing on the door and running out of the theater.

She had made it to the street when she heard a soft voice behind her, calling her name.

Pepper. She and Tony must have just arrived. Natasha ignored her friend and kept walking, unable to coax her legs into a run.

"Natasha wait!" The Widow heard the clicking of heels against concrete but didn't slow down. "Please stop!" Pepper shouted.

Natasha wanted more than anything to keep going, but her gait slowed of its own accord, allowing Pepper to slide gracefully to a stop behind her.

"Where are you going?" she asked. Natasha turned her head, knowing her thick makeup was smeared all over her face, even though she'd refused to let any actual tears fall. Pepper had obviously caught a glimpse though, for Natasha felt a hand rest on her shoulder. "What's going on?" Pepper asked softly.

Natasha still couldn't form words, thoroughly embarrassed that she was letting this affect her so strongly, and thrust the flyer in Pepper's direction. She hated being this emotional, but she justified it by saying she was allowing herself to be human, to _feel_ , for once in her life, instead of bottling it up and pretending that what she wanted didn't matter.

"I know, Natasha," Pepper shifted two steps to her right so she was in Natasha's eyeline. "Michael asked us if it'd be okay."

"How could you?" she choked out. "You know what I used to do."

"That doesn't matter." Pepper reached over and brushed Natasha's bangs out of her face. "Natasha Romanoff deserves this."

"Stop saying that!" She was growing to hate that word: _deserves_. Most people never got what they deserved—good or bad. It just wasn't how the world works.

"Why not?" Pepper asked. "Look at all the good Natasha Romanoff has done over the past few years. She _deserves_ ," Pepper was sure to put extra emphasis on that word, "to be happy.

"These last four months are the happiest we've all seen you in a long time. Nothing short of a nuclear blast is going to keep you from this show. Tony already hired a full security staff to blend in, his suit is in the car if we need it, and all the Avengers are here. We've got this. You just dance. Leave the rest of it to us."

Natasha looked up at Pepper, as she considered her options. She knew it would be selfish to stay, but she also knew she wanted this to more than anything in the world. If something did happen, she had no doubt the combined force of the Avengers could handle it.

"It's not a choice," Pepper stated. Natasha looked up to see the redheaded CEO struggling to keep a straight face, obviously recalling the very detailed stories Clint had told about using that phrase to get his children to cooperate. After a moment, Pepper's expression caved to the silent laugh she was choking down and Natasha felt her face lift as well.

"Okay," she agreed hesitantly.

"Wonderful!" Pepper wrapped her arms around Natasha's shoulders and led her back to the company's entrance. A few nosy reporters, who must have been following the Stark vehicle, pushed their cameras in Natasha's face, but all Pepper had to say was "Happy?" before they instantly disappeared.

When they reached the door, Pepper gave Natasha a quick hug. "You got this," she whispered.

Natasha just nodded, feeling overwhelmed with emotion for the second time that day. No matter how long it had been since she defected, these gestures from her family still threw her off-guard.

"No more tears," Pepper ordered as she pulled back. "This is your day."

Natasha smiled as she swiped her hand under her eyes, her fingers coming away dry but coated in make-up. "Yes, ma'am."

"That's more like it," Pepper rubbed her shoulder quickly, then headed back toward the main entrance. "Break a leg!"

Natasha took a deep breath then walked back into the theater, to find Michael, Elizabeth and Elaina, the volunteer make-up artist, waiting for her.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

Michael just smiled warmly at her. "No need. We shouldn't have sprung it on you like that, but we knew you wouldn't have shown up if we'd told you in advance."

Natasha lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. She couldn't deny that, not after her aborted escape attempt.

"How did you know?" she asked Michael.

"I've always been good with faces," he replied. "I thought I recognized you in auditions, then when I found out that you had the stomach flu the day the Avengers were called in and..." He shrugged. Then he looked around comically, over-dramatically, before cupping his hand around his mouth and adding in a stage whisper, "Besides, you do your arabesque like a Russian."

Natasha shook her head in disbelief. It was such a small thing, an element she hadn't even considered, but it apparently defined her as much as her physical features.

She shrugged wholeheartedly this time, a lopsided grin coming to her face. It appeared to have been the appropriate response for Michael's face mirrored her expression.

He took a step back. "Now let's get you ready for your show."

"Stand back, everyone," Elaina commanded, grabbing Natasha's arm and dragging her through the backstage to the make-up corner. She brushed past the children who were waiting in line and pushed Natasha down in the chair.

"This is supposed to be a happy day for you," Elaina stated, wiping all the old make-up off Natasha's face then going to town with a large white foam wedge covered in foundation. "No more sadness."

"I promise," Natasha said. Then, seeing the concerned faces of the children who were still milling around, she grinned over-exaggeratedly, drew an 'x' over her heart and winked at the children, who giggled loudly and repeated the gesture.

* * *

As quickly as the performance had begun, suddenly it was over and she was running on stage to take her final bow. She heard a loud thumping, which she recognized as the sound of the seats in the chairs in the theater folding up as people stood, and loud clapping and whistling. She grinned widely, then stepped back in line with everyone else for the curtain call.

Thirty minutes later, she stepped out of the back stage door to find the Avengers and the Bartons waiting for her.

Something crashed into her legs and she looked down to see Lila hugging her tightly with one arm, a large bouquet of roses in her other outstretched hand. "You were great Auntie Nat!"

"Thank you Lila," she said, taking the large bouquet and cradling it in her arm.

"She sure was," Clint said, stepping forward and hugging her. "Right Coop?" he said, giving his son a pointed look.

"She wasn't terrible," Cooper said reluctantly.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Natasha bent down and kissed the boy on the cheek, leaving a large smear of lipstick. He shrieked and immediately began scrubbing at the spot with the back of his hand.

"You were wonderful," Laura said, embracing Natasha in a sideways hug so as not to squish Nathaniel who she held against her shoulder.

The rest of the Avengers took this as their cue to congratulate her. The only one who held back was Barnes though he did smile and nod in her direction.

Natasha parted a path through her friends and walked over to him. "Prepare yourself," she said, holding out her arms.

Barnes shook his head quickly back and forth. "No. Natasha if you hug me—"

But it was too late. Romanoff had already wrapped her arms around him. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear.

He let himself relax slightly in her grip, and even patted her once on the back. "I didn't do anything," he whispered back, his voice only slightly strained.

She pulled back and looked him straight in the eye. "Yes you did."

* * *

Tony had taken them all out to dinner that night and offered them all a place to stay at the Tower, so they could attend a future showing if they wished.

The next day, stories of Natasha dancing were all over the news, one of the biggest Avengers scoop since the Sokovia incident. The fact that it'd been undetected for this long was unprecedented to the media and she found herself fighting quite the crowd to get to the stage the next day.

As she approached the stage door, it swung open to reveal Michael standing directly in the center of it. Natasha went to walk past him, but he caught her arm and motioned for her to stand beside him.

"Mr. Kransinski—" one woman began.

"Yes, I knew," Michael interrupted. He smiled at Natasha as they pulled the door closed in the media's face.

Not half hour later, she was sitting in her dressing room when she heard her name being said repeatedly in the hallway. She stepped into the hallway and watched the news bulletin playing on the main TV.

"Sure we went out after rehearsals," the cast was saying, looking rather nonplussed by the media attention. "For like drinks and stuff."

"And you weren't scared?"

"Well, I personally just found out, but I don't care," Kalista had replied. "She was fun."

"Fun. Natasha Romanoff?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, she didn't do the whole giggling thing that plagued the rest of the girls, but she sat with us and bought drinks and on occasion, really smiled. Like genuinely. And to us that was a great as a laugh."

Then the image onscreen shifted to a little girl, who was missing a front tooth and subsequently had a small lisp. "Nadia's the bestest! She boughts me Peeps." The blond girl held up the half-empty packet of the brightly colored chicks and shook it in the reporter's face.

Natasha looked down the hall to her left when the little children were playing some sort of rhyming game. "You said that about me, Brittney?"

The little girl nodded. "'s true!" she managed through a mouthful of marshmallow.

Natasha was truly surprised by these positive comments: she hadn't expected everyone to be so accepting about who she had been.

"See," she heard a deep voice say. She spun around to see Bucky standing in the hallway, his hands shoved into his pockets. "This wasn't so bad, was it?"

"How'd you get back here?"

Bucky shrugged. "I kinda know Odette."

She shook her head in mock disappointment.

"Now everyone knows who you really are," he said, on his original tangent. "And they must like it, cos I think—"

"SOLD OUT!" Michael shouted, sprinting down the hallway. "We're sold out! We've never been sold out." He grabbed Natasha's shoulders and kissed her forehead. "This is wonderful!" he sang as he continued down the hall.

Bucky pointed at Michael's retreating form. "That."

Natasha just shook her head in amusement. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the stage manager fast-walking past.

"Curtain in ten," the elderly woman said without stopping.

Natasha looked at Bucky. "I don't know how to thank you," she said quickly before they could be interrupted again.

Bucky stared at her, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "For what?" he responded honestly. "You did all the hard work."

She stared at him for a long moment, realization sinking in. That was what he had wanted all along, no additional deception, no unseen motivation. He truly had just wanted her to find happiness in a thing she thought she had lost. For that, she couldn't be more grateful.

Her expression must have given away her thoughts, for Bucky squinted slightly at her face. When recognition flashed in his eyes, he nodded, then turned to walk away, his goal accomplished.

"Wait," Natasha hurried over and laid her hand on his metal one. "Come by between shows. I can't leave, but we can see if you're a better card shark than Rogers."

Natasha could count the number of times she'd seen Bucky really, truly smile on one hand. This was one of them; it reached all the way into his eyes, and crinkled the skin around them.

"You're on," he shot back.

"Miss Romanoff," Elaina interjected, standing beside both of them. "I really must ask—"

"I'm going," Bucky replied. "Break a leg!" he called over his shoulder.

Elaina watched him go, then looked at Natasha and nodded her approval. Before Natasha could correct her, Elaina's face sobered. "Go get ready!"

"Yes, ma'am," Natasha returned with a mock salute. As Elaina laughed, Natasha closed the door, then began to slip into her costume, ready to once again show the audience who she really was.

* * *

Their production of _Swan Lake_ had a very good run. Longer than was expected actually, but that was mostly due to the increased media attention. Though it had caused its own set of stressors for the cast, the ticket sales alone would keep the company funded for quite some time.

There was a wrap party after the last show but Michael was adamant that everyone needed to be out of their rooms beforehand, so he wasn't charged for the extra day. Therefore, on her break, she was packing up her things when she heard a soft knock on her door. She turned around to see Michael standing there, holding a swan mask in each hand.

"Who do you identify with more?" he asked, turning the masks so she could see them from the front.

"What?"

"Do you identify more with Odette or Odile?"

Before Natasha could answer, he barreled ahead.

"Forgive me if that's a little personal. I've seen hundreds of Swan Lake performances in my day, from youth theater to the undisputed professionals, and even though both parts are danced with astonishing grace, one is always more dominant, no matter how much they work to hide it." He punctuated his statement by lifting each mask in turn. "You mastered both parts beautifully, don't get me wrong, but I would say you identify more with Odile. There's something about how you dance in her scenes that feels more personal to you...like you understand."

Natasha didn't respond, though she was internally debating whether or not she needed to leave before this conversation took an unpleasant turn.

Michael read her silence as an invitation to continue. "Odile's story is full of tragedy, of manipulation, of a misled youth, of a girl putting her trust in those who didn't have her best interests in mind. If I were a betting man, I would put money on the fact that you have a backstory similar to that."

"Michael, I—"

"But that's what makes this so beautiful," he practically shouted as he gesticulated wildly. "I saw the way you acted around the rest of the Avengers: you've found your family, found your happiness. You're not Odile anymore; you're Odette through and through."

Natasha genuinely didn't know how to respond. This was absolutely not the conversation she'd been expecting, but it was all she wanted in this new life, to be seen as more than just her past, and for someone to recognize that after just four months, a civilian no less, meant she must be on the right path to accomplishing it.

Michael smiled warmly. "You're not the only person who found solace in the arts—who found a way to forgive themselves for something that was never their fault in the first place."

She opened her mouth to respond but he shook his head. "You don't have to say anything." He looked at the masks again, then held them out to her. "I want you to have them. Both of them."

She carefully took them, noticing not for the first time, their beauty. "Thank you," she said as she looked up, but Michael was gone.

She stared at them for another long moment, drinking in the whitest white and the darkest black. Something about that dichotomy wasn't sitting right with her. She knew _Swan Lake_ was meant to be allegorical but she couldn't reconcile it with the fact that the world really wasn't black and white, no matter what Rogers, or Michael for that matter, thought.

In a moment of spontaneity, Natasha down the white mask, plucked a few of the black feathers out of the dark one and carefully arranged them along the edges of the white swan's mask.

_That was better_ , she thought, critically examining the new mask. Life was full of greys, of both good and bad. This mask best represented was who she was now: both Odette and Odile, both Avenger and former assassin, all parts resident badass, ballerina, and most importantly, human.

She had successfully reinvented herself, without the Red Room, without SHIELD, and it was time for the rest of the world to be introduced to the real her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Clint. (For those of you that are worried, there will be much more team involvement in future chapters. This one is a bit different because Bucky already knew what he wanted for Natasha and that he wouldn't be needed much once the wheels were set in motion. This isn't the case for future tales.)
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! We'd love to know what you thought!
> 
> (Find us on Tumblr: [usaonetwothree](http://usaonetwothree.tumblr.com) and [you-cant-just-import-answer](http://you-cant-just-import-answer.tumblr.com)!)


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky Barnes was once again sitting on the floor in his room at Stark Tower, two folders open in front of him. He and Steve were back in Manhattan for the monthly Avengers meeting, which was coincidentally the same weekend Natasha was set to audition for _Swan Lake_. So as to not influence her decision one way or the other, Bucky had kept his distance since she had confronted him about the flyer, even though the lack of knowing was killing him; he wasn't used to his missions being in this state of flux. Only when absolutely necessary had he designed missions where the outcome was completely in the hands of another and, even then, those instances had been few and far between. Needless to say, he was thrilled to learn Natasha had auditioned and accepted the role of Odette.

After the impromptu celebration had died down, Bucky had slipped away to his room where he had taken out the two folders from the bottom of his bag and laid them next to each other. Then he reverently opened the blue one, slipped out Natasha's page and moved it to the green folder: Mission accomplished.

He couldn't dwell on it for long though—he still had five more presents to design.

Bucky skimmed the lists in the blue folder, his eyes once again drawn to Sam's, as it would be relatively simple to execute. It did require a road trip though and, given his extreme dislike for cold weather, he decided to wait until it was warmer for his own sanity. He glanced again at the other sheets, scowling at his lack of ideas.  Bruce's and Clint's showed the most promise though, as their pages weren't entirely empty, so he closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the footboard, and recalled what he'd heard them talk about over the last two days, hoping one of those conversations could be a bolt of inspiration.

Clint: _Food, kids, lots of snow_

Bruce: _Science, volunteering, more complicated science_

Clint: _the sunroom, Laura's work party—_

Wait, the sunroom?

Now that Bucky thought about it, Clint was always mentioning renovating his house in some form or another…It wasn't _exactly_ on par with his mission objective, but it was close enough that he was willing to make an exception, if he could figure out the exact details.

He had literally no experience with any sort of home renovation (either as pre-WWII Bucky Barnes or the Winter Soldier), so he would probably be more of a liability than a help. So he moved onto ideas that involved professionals. As he had hardly used any of the back pay Coulson had secured for him, he could probably arrange for someone to redo the Barton's house for them. Even as he thought it though, something about doing that felt wrong, like his first present had. It wasn't a bad idea (in fact, he was sure the Bartons would have loved it) but it just didn't adhere to his mission objective of finding intangible ways to express his appreciation.

So he moved on to considering hiring someone to _help_ Clint redo his house. This way Clint was still an active part of the equation but would need less time than if he were to do it by himself. That would be mission-compatible in both regards. But for some reason, that felt like cheating too. He'd been able to get away with farming out Natasha's gift because what she really wanted, what she really needed, wasn't something he could provide. He had just put the pieces in place to get her interested in what he knew she needed.

Apparently that wasn't going to be true here.

You _could help him renovate his house,_ his brain supplied. Bucky thought about it for a split second before shaking his head vehemently; there were too many variables in that equation: the kids, the wife, the actual tools themselves—he could hardly go down to Tony's lab without panicking, how was he supposed to wield these tools with the intent to do damage?

No, that was out. He'd—

 _YOU COULD HELP HIM RENOVATE HIS HOUSE_ , his brain insisted more forcefully.

"No!" Bucky shouted, then cursed as he realized he was talking to himself. He immediately froze, his hands hovering over the folders, ready to throw them under the bed if he heard any oncoming footsteps, but thankfully there was only silence.

He let out the breath he'd been holding then re-reviewed Clint's sheet. The home renovation idea was clearly the best but it wasn't worth putting Clint's family at risk in the process. So he penciled it in (lightly) but decided to keep brainstorming until he found something else without any possible collateral damage.

* * *

Three weeks later, the Avengers had assembled to take down a group of elite scientists before they unleashed a contagion into Manhattan. Until he passed his psych exam, Bucky still wasn't allowed out with the team but he'd sneaked into the back of the situation room and observed, mentally reviewing his options for obtaining weapons should the Avengers end up needing his help. From this vantage point, he'd been able to hear Clint vocalize that he had a clear shot at the leader and Coulson's okay to take it. Onscreen, Bucky had watched the arrow impale itself in the man's chest halfway to the fletching, but it was not centered over the heart, which had resulted in the bad guys getting closer to their ground zero than the Avengers had intended. No one else had been injured but it was obvious from the way that Hawkeye distanced himself from the rest of the team in Medical that he blamed himself.

They were all stuck at the new base until the debrief and press conference in the morning so Steve, who was all too familiar with the "what if"s, mandated a movie night in the common room, complete with an assortment of unhealthy but delicious snacks. Clint said very little the entire night but by the end of the movie, seemed to be engaging in conversation with mild enthusiasm. It was a good start sure but Bucky was too smart to think that was the end of it.

Sure enough, he stumbled into the common room early the next morning to find the archer sitting on the ground, the coffee table turned onto its top in front of him.

"Hey," Bucky mumbled as he headed into the kitchen for his caffeine fix.

"Hey yourself," Clint muttered back as he picked up one of his many knives and lopped off a thin slice of a table leg. "There, that ought to do it." He stood and flipped the table back over, laying his hands in its center and jiggling it back and forth, nodding proudly when it no longer wobbled. "Been meaning to get to that for a long time."

Bucky, still not thinking clearly, just made a humming sound in acknowledgment.

"Do you know what time the meeting is today?"

"Nine," Bucky mumbled as he took a large drink of the highly caffeinated beverage.

"Great," Clint enthused, setting the table in its rightful place next to the couch then walking away.

As the caffeine began to kick in, Bucky realized that something was amiss: Clint was far too chipper this morning after the events of yesterday. It was possible he'd accepted the fact that he'd made a slight miscalculation but didn't seem likely, given the team's propensity to blame themselves for things they couldn't control. His curiosity piqued, Bucky stealthily followed Barton around the base, throwing himself flush against a wall when Barton stopped in front of the door to the training room. As Barnes watched, Clint swiped his badge, caught the door as it opened, then swung it back and forth on its hinges, grimacing at the loud squealing sound it made.

 _Barton wasn't just fixing things to fix them,_ Bucky slowly realized as he watch Clint pull a screwdriver from his back pocket and began working on one of the hinges. _He was fixing as a means of coping!_

In that case, Bucky _had_ to help Barton redo his sunroom—there was no question about it. With this new information, the renovation was completely mission-compatible.

But how was he going to pull it off?

 _Eliminate variables_ , his brain offered.

That was...surprisingly helpful. As he headed back to the kitchen for a second cup of coffee, he decided he would feel comfortable helping Clint renovate his house if he eliminated the parts that might be issues, so the kids would have to go, maybe Laura and the dog too. He had no doubt Laura would defend her kids to her dying breath, but Bucky really didn't want to put her or Clint in that situation.

He couldn't exactly eliminate the tools but with his enhanced strength and metal arm, he could probably get away without using some of them. He also knew that they wouldn't be able to renovate a house until at least the spring so that would give him time to desensitize himself, if necessary, to some of the required tools.

He reviewed the plan again but was unable to find any additional holes in it, baring Clint actually agreeing to it. He nodded proudly, then took a well-deserved swill of coffee before heading back to his room to get ready for the debrief.

* * *

"Can we talk?" Bucky asked Clint as soon as the ensuing press conference was over. Again his cursory membership to the team kept him from being on stage while Steve and sometimes Natasha fielded questions, but he'd been waiting in the media room on base where he watched the whole thing on television.

Clint looked over his shoulder to see who it was, then nodded. "Sure Bucky. When?"

"Now."

Bucky motioned for Clint to follow him into the receptionist area, just off the main hallway. "I want to help you renovate your house," he said without any other introduction, once they were out of range of the commotion Maria was still dealing with outside.

Clint fiddled with his hearing aids then looked up at Bucky. "Come again?"

Barnes frowned but repeated himself.

"'Swhat I thought," Clint stated, a wide grin coming to his face. "Thanks man. I'd appreciate it. I never seem—"

At the risk of seeming rude, Bucky raised his hand, cutting Clint off. He had to let him know about his terms before the archer got too excited, just in case one of them was a deal breaker. "On one condition."

Clint's expression didn't change but he motioned for Bucky to continue.

"The kids go elsewhere while I'm there," the supersoldier said quickly, his words all coming out in a rush. "Laura and Lucky too."

"Bucky—"

"They have to or I can't help you." Barnes was expecting the archer to look disappointed but all he saw was understanding.

"Okay Bucky. But I just want to say I really don't think they need to. You're ready—"

Bucky shook his head. "They have to go," he repeated, his voice accidentally raising a bit.

It seemed to have the desired effect though for Clint made a placating gesture with his hands. "Okay, okay. Laura usually takes the kids to her parents for a week every summer. We could do it then."

Bucky nodded, a small feeling of satisfaction blooming in his chest as his plan began to come together. "That sounds great."

* * *

Between baseball games, ballet recitals (both Lila's and Natasha's), a family trip to Disneyland over Spring Break and two reschedulings, Clint and Bucky were finally able to agree on the weekend of May 25th for the renovation of the sunroom.

The Saturday before, after repacking his duffel bag, Bucky phoned Clint to ensure that they were still on for the following weekend.

"Well, about that..." Clint began and Bucky's heart dropped into his bowels.

"About what?" he ground out.

"The kids are still gonna be here; I want you to meet them."

Barnes shook his head rapidly, his hair whipping around his eyes. "I met them at Natasha's recital. They have to go. Laura and Lucky too."

"Bucky, listen. I think it would be good for you to spend some time around them—"

"No," Bucky interjected but Clint continued as if he hadn't spoken.

"—I brought Natasha out here when Cooper was just a little guy. She had only defected six months before that but I wouldn't have done it if I didn't trust her. Both Laura and I have been thinking about it for a long time and we want you to get to know our family. This would be a great weekend to do both."

"No."

"We trust you. All of us."

Bucky couldn't expend the energy to speak as his mind raced for a solution to save this mission. He had to do help Clint with his renovation but with this change in situation, he was going to need help.

Without saying goodbye, he hung up and dialed Natasha.

"What's wrong?" she demanded after just one ring.

"I need you to come with me to Bartons next weekend," he blurted, not even questioning how she knew something was amiss.

"You don't need me, Bucky. We all trust you around the kids."

"I need you to be there," he repeated. "Just in case."

"Bucky, I'd love to—I'm long overdue for seeing the kids—but I'm on a mission. I can't promise I'll be done by Saturday."

"Oh."

The line fell quiet for a moment.

"Take Steve," Natasha finally suggested.

"I don't want to put him in that position."

He could hear The Widow make an amused sound. "But you can put me in it?"

"You won't hesitate." He didn't have to elaborate: if something happened and he slipped into the Winter Soldier, he knew she would do whatever it took to keep the kids safe. He had no doubt Clint and Laura could too, when their kids' lives were at stake, but there was no chance he could take out three of them in their uber-protective state before one of them got to him.

"You won't need it," she reiterated.

"We'll reschedule," Bucky all but pleaded. "Any weekend you're free."

Natasha exhaled loudly. "Barton's busy for like the next two months so it's now or next year." She paused for a moment, then said, "I'll see if I can't wrap this up early. "

"That'd be great," Bucky replied earnestly. After a brief pause, he remembered to add, "Thanks."

"You're welcome. But I'm gonna be useless—you're ready for this."

 _I sincerely hope so,_ Bucky thought as he ended the call.

* * *

Exactly 170 hours later, Bucky was just zipping his bag after packing it yet again when his phone chirped. "I'm outside :)," the text from Natasha read.

He slung the bag over his shoulder and walked into the living room, where Steve was sitting on the couch, obviously pretending to be busy but failing miserably.

"Natasha's here," Bucky stated, not sure what he was supposed to do next. The two of them typically went their own ways during the day, Steve with his Avenging and PR events, Bucky with his therapy appointments, agent evals, and volunteer dog-walking, but they hadn't been apart for a night since Bucky's return. It was obvious from the way they both were acting that neither of them had any idea how to proceed.

Steve sprang to his feet, accidentally ripping the magazine he'd been pretending to read in the process. "Do you need anything else?"

Bucky shook his head.

They stood there in an uneasy silence for another moment.

"I'll be back," Barnes stated, feeling the vise around his chest loosen slightly.

Steve smiled warmly. "I know."

They stared at each other for another brief second before Bucky rolled his eyes, cursed silently, then pulled Steve in for a quick hug.

"Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone," he found himself saying.

Steve snorted out a huff of laughter against Bucky's neck. "How can I?" he recited verbatim. "You're taking all the stupid with you."

As much as Bucky hated hugs, it turned out Steve gave really good ones, so he was actually very disappointed when he heard the car horn honk, almost politely if such thing could be believed.

He pulled back, smiled, then walked out the door without looking back.

"You ready?" Natasha asked as he climbed into the enormous truck she had acquired, buckled his seat belt, then pulled on it to make sure it was secure. Natasha could have laughed at him for doing something so mundane given his background but he suspected she knew why he did it. Never in his years as the Soldier did he stop to do something as mundane as buckling his seat belt. If he got injured, he was fixed—he did what it took to get the job done. The seat belt was a silly gesture really, but it helped reinforce the idea that he should take care of himself. And, most importantly, it made him feel safe.

"Ready as I'll never be," he decided, situating his bag on floor then scooting the seat as far back as it would go. She must have gotten one of those extended cabs monstrosities for he had more legroom than he'd ever had on the subway or in the fully-loaded quinjet.

"Why so glum, Barnes?" she asked as she waved to Steve, who was still hovering in the open doorway, then peeled out of the driveway burning a layer of rubber just to watch his reaction.

"Children, tools and copious amounts of stress," he recited.

"Laura's chocolate cake, Lucky the Pizza Dog, and little children's hugs," Natasha countered. Bucky tilted his head in acknowledgement of the second item and patted his pants pocket, feeling the little lump of dog treats.

At the first red light, he heard Natasha reach in the inside pocket of the driver's door.

"Don't freak out," she said softly.

He saw her hands moving but forced himself not to react until she had dropped something soft onto his head. He leaned over to look in the rear-view mirror and saw an atrocious green pointed hat on his head, complete with a huge red pom-pom at the tip and fake pointy ears sticking up from the sides.

"What is this?" he asked in disgust.

"Repeat after me," she said with a perfectly neutral expression, as traffic began to move again. "Bucky the elf, what's your favorite color?"

"No," Bucky stated as he tugged off the hat. He debated throwing it out the window, but ended up folding it nicely in his lap. Perhaps the kids would like it.

Natasha shrugged. "That's Lila's favorite Christmas movie, though. If you quote it to her, you'll probably be her new best friend."

Bucky nodded conversationally, even though he had no idea what movie Natasha was referring to. He did however file that quote away, for later use, if necessary.

When they pulled up to the Barton's farmhouse twelve hours later, the family of five was sitting on the porch: Clint and Lila in a long porch swing, Nathaniel and Laura in the rocker, and Cooper drawing on the wood with chalk.

"Auntie Nat!" he heard Lila shriek as she launched herself off the swing, almost splitting her chin open on the railing when she misjudged the turn. By the time Lila was in arm's reach, Natasha had jumped out of the car, picked the little girl up and pulled her in for a tight hug. "Hello, solnyshko."

While Lila took this as an invitation to explain everything that had happened in her life since she'd last seen her aunt, Bucky just sat in the car, tugging his sleeve down over his left arm while he struggled to regulate his breathing.

"You can do this," he repeated ad nauseam.

He whipped around as he heard a soft tapping on his door and honed in on Cooper, who cupped his hands around his eyes and squinted through the truck's dark tinted windows.

"You can come out, you know," the kid said.

"Cooper," Clint reprimanded, having finally reached the front of the yard. "Give him some space." As he passed Natasha and Lila, he lightly flicked his little girl in the ear. "Slow down sweetie. Give Natasha a chance to breathe."

Both Barton kids looked remorse, Lila slowing down for a whole ten seconds before returning to her rapid-fire narrative. Cooper on the other hand, hopped down from the nerf bar and took a few steps back. "Sorry."

Bucky took a deep breath to center himself, then slowly opened the door and stepped out of the car. He automatically clasped both hands behind his back so his left arm wouldn't be on display, even though it was hidden beneath a long-sleeved T-shirt.

"Good to see you," Clint said as he walked around the car. He held out his hand and Bucky shook it, jamming his left into his pocket in the same motion.

"I'm not sure if you remember, but this is my oldest, Cooper." He shot the boy a look and Cooper immediately held out his hand. Bucky shook that one too, quickly, not more than a second's total contact. Even though he wasn't using his left arm, he was still a watered-down supersoldier who had little to no experience with kids so he was painfully aware of how much pressure he was exerting with his grip.

"That chatterbox is Lila," Barton pointed over the car and rolled his eyes affectionately. The girl _finally_ paused for a breath, then poked her head around the front of the car, her arms still wrapped tightly around Natasha's neck, and smiled so widely it forced her eyes closed.

"And this is Laura and Nathaniel," Clint finished, wrapping his arm around the woman who had just stepped into view and pulling her close.

"I remember." Bucky paused briefly as his manners kicked into gear, then said, "Thanks for having me," only slightly stiffly.

"It's our pleasure," Laura said warmly. "We're so grateful you're helping Clint with our sun room. He's been wanting to fix it up for years."

Bucky ran through his possible responses, but ended up just nodding when he couldn't find one that seemed appropriate. By this time, Natasha had walked around to this side of the car and shooting pointed glances at the elf hat sitting in the front seat.

The supersoldier sighed, rolled his eyes, then reached back into the car and pulled on the hat. "Bucky the elf, what's your favorite color?" he intoned with absolutely no emotion.

It didn't seem to matter, for Lila's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates and she squirmed out of Natasha's hold. She walked over to Bucky, staying just out of his reach, and squinted up at his hat. "That's my favorite Christmas movie...Ever!"

Bucky nodded. "I know."

Lila scrutinized him for another moment, then held out her hand. "Come on, Uncle Bucky. It's time for lunch."

"Um, okay." Without needing a proverbial nudge from Natasha, Barnes slowly extended his flesh hand. When it was about halfway between them, Lila reached forward and grabbed his hand. She wrapped her fingers around his palm so he wouldn't need to worry about returning the gesture, then tugged him along behind her as she led the way to the house, chattering about her favorite parts of the Christmas movie in question...or it could have been another movie, Bucky really wasn't sure.

The entire distance to the house, Bucky was on the lookout for Lucky. When they'd reached the porch and the golden retriever still hadn't made an appearance, he opened his mouth to ask, "Where is—"

As if on cue, the screen door banged open and a gold mass launched itself at Bucky. The supersoldier had just enough time to release Lila's hand before paws collided with his chest and knocked him flat, just like Lucky had done when they first met.

 _Don't freak out, don't freak out_ , Bucky repeated internally as he slowly regained his breath, helped by the overenthusiastic dog slobbering on his face. He exhaled loudly then wrapped his arms lightly around the dog's middle, pulling him close so he could bury his head in Lucky's neck. "Hi buddy," he whispered, as some of the tension of the upcoming weekend melted out of his system. "I've missed you."

He heard commotion behind him as the rest of the Bartons and Nat sprinted over.

"Lucky, get off him," he heard Clint demand. Not wanting to get the dog in trouble, Bucky relaxed his grip but Lucky had other plans: the golden laid flat on Bucky, dropping his head right next to the supersoldier's jaw. Barnes just grinned then began eagerly scratching the dog's back.

"He's usually such a good dog," Clint grumbled. "He doesn't do this for anyone but you."

"He's obviously a good judge of character," Barnes retorted, tilting his head back so he could see Barton's upside-down reaction.

Clint snorted, which earned him a swat from Laura. He put on an expression of mock contrition then turned back to Barnes. "Do you want to sit there for a while or do you want to go in?"

'Stay out here with the dog' won by a landslide, but Bucky understood social norms dictated he go inside, so he gently rolled Lucky off of him and rose to his feet. He pulled the treats out of his pocket with a flourish, ignoring Clint's indignant cries, and threw one all the way across the field for Lucky to fetch.

"That's cheating," the archer groused as he led his visitors into the house.

"Don't be mad because he likes me better."

Clint turned around and gave him an appraising look. "I like this version of you, Barnes. You should bring him around more often."

Bucky just shrugged, not given a chance to reply as he was swept into the house by the rest of the Barton family.

* * *

Since the sun was just beginning to set, Clint decided they would just start on the sunroom the next morning. The kids took this hour before dinner as an opportunity to show their new visitor all their treasures. Clint had obviously spoken to the kids beforehand because they approached him loudly and always announced themselves, which did a lot to quell some of Bucky's concerns. The only kid he avoided like the plague was Nathaniel, who didn't seem too keen on Bucky anyway preferring the arms of his favorite aunt. Despite the kids' best efforts though Bucky was still hyperfocused on his surroundings, almost painfully aware of every creak in the floorboards, every shout of the kids', all the while forcing himself not to react. By the time dinner arrived, Bucky was practically vibrating with all his pent-up energy.

Finally, after an enormous meal where Laura had just kept piling food onto his plate without asking until she'd decided he'd eaten enough, he pulled Natasha aside and asked if he could go for a run. She gave him a strange look and promptly informed him that he never had to ask to do things like that. As he walked away though, she added, "There's a nice loop if you go east from the barn. Winds around the property, ends up at the lake." She said it nonchalantly, but from her expression, he got the feeling the loop meant something special to her and he was truly honored she was sharing it with him.

Two hours later, he had run said loop six times, after taking the first lap slowly so he could enjoy the scenery in the sunset, and was exerted beyond the point of feeling. He dropped down under a massive tree by the lake, panting for breath.

"Hey."

His chest still heaving, Bucky jumped to his feet, immediately scanning the ground looking for a weapon, as he had foolishly abided by Natasha's suggestion and left his weapons in the lock box in her truck.

"Please don't hurt me." He recognized the voice—Cooper's—which was enough to draw him out of his panicked search. What really surprised him, as he came back to himself, was the lack of emotion in the boy's words: there wasn't an ounce of fear in the statement. He glanced up and saw the young Barton draped over of the tallest branches in the tree, not looking at all frightened.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Bucky vowed. He considered being concerned that he hadn't realized a ten-year-old was in the vicinity but decided that he probably shouldn't worry about it, since they were Barton's kids who were being trained in self-defense by Natasha. When his heartbeat finally slowed into some semblence of normal, he sat back down then craned his neck so he was looking up at Cooper. "What are you doing up there anyway?"

"This is my thinking place. I come here when I want to be alone."

"Oh." Barnes quickly pushed himself to his feet. "I'll leave."

"No, wait!" Cooper jerked forward and almost tumbled out of the tree, saved at the last minute by his quick reflexes. "You can stay...if you want, that is."

Bucky looked up in genuine surprise. "I can?"

The kid nodded. "Yeah," he said a little self-consciously. "Uncle Steve has been telling me stories about how great you are. I'm kinda excited to meet you." He said it with a note of disinterest, a characteristic Bucky had seen Steve often do, so as not to be disappointed if the outcome wasn't in their favor.

It couldn't hurt to sit there a little longer, especially if it meant he'd hear all the hooey Steve had probably been spreading about him. Besides there was enough space between him and Cooper that the kid would be alright if he spaced out.

"I'm sure he exaggerated," Bucky said, lowering himself to the ground. He looked back up at Cooper but his neck chose that moment to cramp, so he instead lay down at the foot of the tree and stared up at the young boy. He stuck his hands under his rear and crossed his ankles which would make it hard(er) to stand-up from quickly, thus giving Cooper a slight tactical advantage should he require it.

"Did you save his life a bunch when he was little and getting beat up in alleys?"

"Well, yeah..."

"Did you have his six in the war?"

"Yeah, but—"

Cooper sprung to his feet and padded along the thick branch effortlessly, his hands raised like he was holding a rifle. "Bucky was one of the best shots we had," he said, in an eerily good imitation of Steve. "All the guys knew he had our backs. He'd hang back at great distances, almost so we couldn't see him, but I guess that was the point. Trouble popped up and _Bang!"_ Cooper pulled on the imaginary trigger, then plopped back down on the branch. "I may have embellished that last part a little. Uncle Steve leaves out all the bloody stuff."

 _Good to know some things were off limits._ "Cooper," he began. Just as he suspected, Steve had painted him through rose-colored glasses. He racked his brain, trying to figure out how he could adjust this child's vision of him, not to include _all_ the bad stuff, of course, but to let him know he wasn't quite the stand-up guy Steve had led Cooper to believe he was. "I think Steve—"

Just then a bell rang and Cooper began to shimmy down the tree. "It's my bedtime," he announced with a scowl. "Maybe sometime can you tell me a story about Uncle Steve?"

 _Next time?_ "Cooper, I—"

The kid dropped to the ground right in front of Barnes, who shot into a sitting position. "Please, Uncle Bucky?" The kid looked around conspiratorially, then whispered, "Don't tell my dad but Captain America's my favorite Avenger."

He stared at Barnes with his big green eyes until the former assassin caved. "Fine."

Cooper grinned. "Thanks!" he shouted as he ran back to the house.

Bucky groaned as what he realized what he'd promised and set off for another run to calm his nerves.

* * *

"You ready to get started?" Clint asked Bucky after breakfast the next morning.

Barnes nodded. He'd been on a very long run this morning around the Barton's many acres and had worked out with some of Clint's farm equipment. He was just tired enough to take the edge off, not tired enough to be a danger or hindrance around the renovation.

He put his plate in the sink then followed Clint into the sunroom…which was still full of furniture.

"I meant to get it all cleaned out before you got here," Clint said apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Not a problem," Bucky said but as he looked around, he realized he had no idea where to start.

Before he could ask, Laura walked in, a thick roll of brown paper in her hands. "Let's just stack the paintings in the dining room," she instructed as she lifted an elegant nature scene off the wall. "I don't care about the order or anything, but please put a sheet of wrapping paper between them so we don't scratch the frame." She demonstrated by bending the thick paper around the edges so it stayed put without any tape.

Bucky nodded, then carefully took down another picture. With all three of them working and Nat watching the kids, the walls were quickly cleared. While Bucky and Clint moved out the small table and chairs, Laura hurriedly began emptying the furniture into boxes so make it lighter for the men to carry until Clint cleared his throat and tilted his head at Bucky.

Laura glanced over her shoulder and blinked twice. "Right. Supersoldier," she muttered as she stood up. "Still, be careful, it might be—" She trailed off as Bucky easily lifted the armoir. "—heavy," she added lamely to his retreating back.

Then she glanced over her shoulder at her husband, who was standing in the center of the room. "What are you waiting for?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest, though her tone lacked any real heat.

Clint straightened up and shot his wife a perfect salute. "Nothing ma'am. I'm getting to work now, ma'am," he barked as he and his wife returned to emptying the shelves of the hutch and carefully wrapping and stacking its contents in the box.

An hour later, the room was empty.

"This is where I leave you," Laura said, dusting off her pants and rising to her feet. "Lunch will be at 11:30 so I can take Cooper to baseball practice at 1. It is not optional," she said, turning to look pointedly at Bucky, who had just walked back into the room. "Food flows aplenty around here, especially for supersoldiers with hyper metabolisms."

Bucky just nodded gratefully as he chugged from a plastic water bottle.

"And Clint, don't work too hard. The last thing we need is for you to throw out your back trying to keep up."

As Bucky grunted what was almost a laugh, Clint clutched at his heart dramatically and took a few staggering steps back. "You wound me woman!"

Laura smiled widely then shouted "Get back to work!" as she left the room.

"So what Laura's been asking for months is to put wood in here," Clint said, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and locating his app drawer. "I watched some videos on YouTube and it doesn't look too bad. First thing we have to do is get the carpet up."

He trailed off when he heard a loud ripping sound and glanced up to find Bucky holding the corner of the carpet high in the air.

"Well, that's one way to do it," Clint deadpanned. "Now, we need to cut it into sections so the garbage people can haul it away." The archer pulled a box knife from his tool belt and held it out to Bucky who vehemently shook his head. The supersoldier tightened his grip on the carpet then yanked with his left hand, tearing a neat line in the shag.

"That works too," Clint said, almost miffed at the ease at which Bucky was systematically destroying their old flooring. "Now, they suggest a 12x12 square. Roll it up, then move it outside."

Bucky nodded, then tore the carpet into a square like Clint suggested. While he threw the roll onto his shoulder to move outside, the archer began pulling up carpet in the opposite corner. It wasn't long before they'd met in the middle and taken out the nasty foam beneath it too. After cleaning and leveling out the concrete subfloor, they brought in the wood, which had been sitting in the living room for 72 hours.

They found the straightest board and used it to measure out the center of the room. Once that was done, they spread the glue in a patch wide enough for four board and laid the straight board in the left most upper corner of the adhesive. After they had the first set of brakes situated, Clint and Bucky each took a side, sliding in the adjacent boards both beneath and adjacent to, in tandem. When Clint stood to grab his next board, he spied Bucky tapping the board into place against the center guide with the fingers of his metal hand.

He dug into the bag beside him and came up with a second mallet, which he held out to Barnes. "Here."

"No thanks," Bucky said without looking up.

"Aren't you worried about getting glue on your hand?"

"Not really," Bucky almost snapped. Clint, well-versed in the signs of someone barely holding it together, temporarily let the issue go, after making a note to find out what removed the thick adhesive, in case Barnes did end up gluing the plates of his hand together.

They were just about finished laying the middle stripe when Nathaniel toddled into the room, a bright yellow bag filled with plastic tools in hand. "Help!" he declared.

Clint sprang to his feet and grabbed Nathaniel by the underarms, hoisting him high into the air, as he walked his son away from the drying glue. "I don't think so, sport."

Nathaniel rattled the bag with more force. "Help, 'addy!" he insisted.

Just then Natasha ran in, looking almost _frantic_. Barnes' head snapped up and he looked ready to tease her about it, but he closed his mouth, as if deciding against it. "Do you guys have—" she paused as she saw the bundle in Clint's arms. "He's crafty, Clint, I'll give you that. More so than the other two."

She paused then surveyed the swath of new flooring. "How's it coming in here?"

"Good I think. How about you, Bucky?"

"Great," he muttered, situating another wooden slat with his metal hand.

"You know we have tools for that," Natasha commented.

"I'm fine."

She watched him for a beat longer, then said, "Well, Laura wants me to get you two for lunch."

"'unch!" Nathaniel shouted.

"Yeah, buddy, it's time for lunch." As they walked by, Clint tapped Bucky's shoe. "C'mon man. Laura'll kill me if you don't show up."

Barnes visibly tensed, then slowly relaxed as he realized it was a joke. "We wouldn't want that," he said evenly as he slowly got to his feet.

Unfortunately, Nathaniel chose this moment to try to garner some affection from the newcomer. "Hi 'ucky!" he shouted, dropping the yellow bag and reaching out for Barnes, who jerked away like he'd been burned.

Both Clint and Natasha intervened, the Widow stepping between the child and Bucky first. "Not right now, buddy," Natasha said, rubbing her hand along Nathaniel's back. "Maybe after lunch." She reached for him and he allowed himself to be tucked into her arms. "No more running away now, you hear me?" she said with fake anger in her tone. Before the boy could react, she quickly followed it up by blowing a raspberry behind the little boy's ear.

While they were playing, Bucky had rushed past them, visibly shying away from the small boy. Clint supposed it was because Nathaniel was the most vulnerable out of the children—he could hardly walk, let alone defend himself. It would just take time for Barnes to get used to him. Given all that was going on this weekend though, Clint wasn't going to push it, knowing Bucky was stretched emotionally thin as is.

As Natasha started to walk out of the room, he bent down to pick up the plastic tool bag. "Leave it, Clint," Nat instructed, surprising him with her uncharacteristic request. He frowned up at her then saw her sign with the hand wrapped around Nathaniel's shoulders: _trust me_.

He nodded then walked with his son and Natasha into the kitchen where Laura already had a full meal laid out.

After lunch, Bucky headed immediately for the sun room to return to work. Clint had all intentions to do the same but was tackled by his older two kids. When he'd finally freed himself, he walked back into the sunroom to find Bucky kneeling on the ground, hammering a board into formation with the yellow plastic hammer from Nathaniel's tool bag.

In that instant, Clint understood what Natasha had realized earlier and silently reprimanded himself for not being more aware.

"I'll be right back," he said, setting off toward the other side of the house where Natasha was sitting in the main room watching a children's television show with Nathaniel in her lap.

"He's using the hammer, isn't he?" she asked without looking over her shoulder.

Clint opened his mouth for a witty retort but decided on just "yeah."

She nodded and flipped off the television. "Lila, are you ready?"

His little girl popped her head out of the adjacent playroom, her hair already coated in a thick layer of glitter. "Yup, Auntie Nat!"

Natasha finally shifted so she could look at Clint. "Give us an hour."

"You're the best."

She just smiled knowingly in response.

On his way back to the sunroom, Clint picked up a few more bottles of water from the kitchen so he had a valid excuse for leaving in the first place. "Let's take a break," Clint suggested to Bucky as he offered the supersoldier a bottle. "Maybe a walk. Get some fresh air. It's beautiful out."

"Maybe later," Bucky said as he grabbed another board to fit into place.

"Bucky, you have to learn one day that it's not always about the destination," Clint grinned, paraphrasing a famous quote. "You're out here for the weekend, you deserve to get a break out of this too." Clint walked over to the door to the porch and swung it open. "It's a great day out there." When Bucky still didn't move, he played his trump card. "You know Lucky would really like to go on a walk."

Barnes perked up and glanced at Clint suspiciously. After a moment, he shrugged, his face adopting a neutral expression. "Okay," he said slowly. "I guess we could go on a walk."

An hour later, they stepped back into the room, Bucky decidedly more relaxed, to find a bag of tools by where Barnes had been working. He didn't so much as shoot it a second glance before grabbing a new long board and twisting it in a vertical circle to decide which side he liked better.

"Why don't you see what's in the bag?" Clint suggested as he grabbed a board of his own.

"I'd rather not," Bucky said quietly as he slid the board into place then tapped it down with the yellow hammer.

"Bucky, do you trust me?"

The supersoldier stopped working and looked up at Clint for a long moment. Then he nodded and cautiously unzipped the bag with all the caution of a bomb tech. His face contorted into a frown of confusion as he reached in and pulled out a hammer, or more accurately, what used to be one. The head was covered in an assortment of pink glittery stickers, while the connection between the head and the grip had some sort of pink fluff sticking out from it and the grip was wrapped in a pink and purple striped plastic.

"What the hell is it?"

"It's your hammer," Clint explained. "Some things were sensitive to Natasha when she first came here—our china for instance. Laura wanted to make her first meal here special but something about the pattern set Natasha off. She still hasn't told me what exactly but, by the time I had calmed her down, Laura had re-set the table with Cooper's plasticware and the rest of dinner went great. I suspect it's the same for you and tools, right?"

Bucky made a quick gesture with his head that Clint interpreted as a nod. He slowly reached into the bag and pulled out tool after tool, each in god-awful shade of pink, some with pink fuzz, some with stickers, and some with glitter. When all the tolls were bundled in his arms, Bucky looked up at Clint, his face fracturing with emotion.

"It's family, Bucky," Clint interjected before Bucky could speak. "You're doing something nice for me. I wanted to make sure you'd be okay too."

A thick blockage rose into the back of Bucky's throat and he nodded gratefully. "Let's just get back to work," he sputtered.

"As you wish," Clint said with a warm smile on his face.

* * *

They had to let the main boards sit overnight, taped flat with masking tape, then used the next day to lay the rest of them.

By the time the sun went down Sunday evening (the process greatly expedited by the use of real tools), Bucky and Clint were sitting in the doorway, sipping on bottles of beer, staring at the new flooring.

"You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that," Clint said, taking a long pull of his. Between Avenging and the fall of SHIELD, he had doing more than his fair share of work trying to keep the intelligence agency afloat. He was home enough with the kids (less than he would like) but not for long enough to do any long term projects, like refloor the sunroom even though he'd been promising Laura to do it for years.

A few years back, he'd started to renovate the kitchen before the Battle of New York. In the aftermath and the numerous trials in front of the Council, it sat partially finished for months until he swung another weekend off (by bribing Bobbi to take his on-call shift). Now, Laura wouldn't let them start anything until they were sure they could finish it in a weekend—which definitely wasn't happening with a toddler running around.

It felt good to have something around the house finished, on a deep level. He'd been forced into becoming a SHIELD agent as a way to avoid jail, but he'd discovered early on that he enjoyed helping people and ridding himself of the red in his proverbial ledger. What he hadn't realized was just how much evil was in the world and that had kept him up many a night. He realized he was going to lose his mind if he kept all that in scope so he narrowed his focus and honed in on what he could control: his life outside of the agency, his friends, and later on, his family and their home. It helped ground him in a world where he was just a normal guy with a bow in arrow combating superheroes, demi-gods, and enhanced beings. It was his foundation to roll back on when things got rough and he couldn't have thanked Bucky more for helping him get back to that.

Clint took another long look at the new hardwoods, his critical eye examining every juncture. Thanks to Bucky's Type-A methodology, the floor had turned out even better than he had imagined, the H-joints spaced and repeated with almost Monk-ish precision.

As he took another long pull of his beer, Clint glanced left into the formal dining room and another idea struck.

He turned to look at Barnes, a mischievous gleam in his eye. "So this was all I told Laura we were doing, but if you have a few more days to spare, there's another project I've been dying to get done." He forced his expression to remain neutral and kept looking at the beautiful new flooring, so as not to accidentally Bucky's decision.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Barnes roll his shoulders, as if working out a kink, then shrug. "Why not?" the former assassin said.

* * *

The next week passed more quickly than Clint could have imagined. Each morning he spent time with the kids getting them ready for school. As soon as they headed down the block to catch the bus, he and Bucky entered the living room they'd cordoned off with a large sign Cooper had written stating "Mom keep out."

People assumed his kids were sneaky because of his profession: they obviously didn't know Laura. That woman tried her very best to find out what Clint and Bucky were up to, sneaking around the house, asking leading questions offhandedly to trick them into answering. But they held firm, insistent that it was going to be a surprise.

Clint made sure the supersoldier had time off each afternoon so he could make his own positive memories around here and actually want to return here, if he ever needed an escape. It surprised both of them when he ended up spending that time mostly around Lila and Cooper (always with Lucky in the same room). He told Cooper a plethora of stories about Steve both before and after his transformation. Clint had never had to ask that they were appropriate, though he was sure there were plenty that weren't, as Bucky was determined to paint Steve in the best light for the little boy, much in the same way Steve did in return every time he was out here.

Lila was equally driven to show Bucky her favorite movie but Barnes held strong in refusing once he learned what the plot was. After a doctors' appointment where she'd needed a shot, Lila had promised watching it with him would make her arm feel better. He'd made a fantastically awful face but sat down and subjected himself to the film. From his expression and the way he began to quote it in earnest around her, Clint could tell he hadn't entirely hated it.

Despite all Bucky's concerns about slipping back into the Soldier while he was out here, he'd only lapsed once, understandably, when Cooper had fallen off the nest he'd built from the renovation materials and knocked the wind out of himself, causing Bucky to flash back to helping Steve through an asthma attack. Laura had sprinted from the house and, after making sure her son was alright, had been key in talking Bucky back to reality. In his ensuing panic, he wanted to leave but the Bartons with the help of Natasha had worked long and hard to convince him that he was always welcome here, especially when his lapse was because of their son's antics. It'd taken Bucky some time to get his head wrapped around that idea but by the next morning, he seemed to be back to his gruff but engaged self.

Before everyone knew it, it was Saturday morning and he insisted Laura needed to leave the house so he could do an overdramatic reveal of her new space. She rolled her eyes at him but had taken Lila, Nathaniel and Natasha on her shopping trip.

"Daddy! She's back!" Lila shouted two hours later.

"Keep her busy!" Clint shot back as he climbed up on the ladder, curtain rod in hand.

"Ready?" he asked Bucky, who was standing on the other side of the room in a similar position.

"On three." Together they climbed the ladders, then hung the curtain rod where the east wall of the dining room had been.

"Sheet!" He called, like a surgeon in an operating room, and Cooper handed both him and Bucky two tattered sheets, which they began to clip to the rings hanging from the curtain rod.

"They're finally done?" they heard Laura asked from the front door, a note of excitement in her tone.

"Yeah mommy!" Lila replied. "You gotta close your eyes though."

"Clint!" Laura shouted.

"Do as Lila says honey!"

"For the love of…Okay sweetie. I'm closing my eyes," she called, loud enough so her husband would hear her.

"I've got you," he heard Natasha whisper to Laura. He grinned, knowing Lila was leading them at breakneck speeds through the house.

He turned and looked at Bucky, who was just clipping the last corner of the blue Thomas the Train sheet. Then he and Barnes hopped down from the stepladders and pushed them off to the side before standing in front of the curtains, like guards in front of Big Ben.

"Did you have fun with Natasha?" Clint asked as his wife turned the corner, led by Lila. Natasha was a half-step behind, both hands on Laura's shoulders to turn her in the right direction.

"What on earth is going on?" she responded, a smile lighting up her face despite the faux somber tone in her voice.

"Open your eyes and find out," he teased.

She did. "Not quite the wall covering I was looking for," she deadpanned. "What's behind it?"

Clint took one step to his left, Bucky to his right and they dramatically pulled back the curtains revealing a small office. There was a desk underneath the large window, bracketed by lamps. One side had a low filing cabinet, with a printer and other desk supplies neatly sorted on top of it, while the other was just a long table, a vase of fresh flowers in the middle of it.

"Clint," Laura breathed.

"It's for you," he said, taking her hand and leading her into the room.

"You mentioned once how you didn't have any space to call your own. I didn't really decorate it for that reason. We'll get nice French doors here, so you can close them off to keep out nosy kids." At that, Clint spun around and tickled Lila's sides. She shrieked with joy and ran for cover behind Bucky, who instinctively froze, before forcing himself to relax slightly.

"You could even move your sewing stuff in here if you wanted," he motioned toward the empty table. "We wanted to give you options.

"We couldn't get it all done in the weekend but we hope this is a good start," he said, turning back to Laura who had her hands clasped around her mouth in disbelief. She nodded, then cupped the back of Clint's head and pulled him in for a long kiss.

"Close your eyes, kid," Bucky whispered to Lila, who nodded then buried her head into the back of his leg.

When Laura finally pulled back, Clint wrapped his arm around her shoulder, looking happier than Bucky had ever seen him. "You know it's going to be hard to hang those doors by myself," he stated, with a quick glance at Laura. "I might need help from my new contracting buddy."

Laura smiled at her husband, then turned to face Barnes. "You know you're welcome out here any time, right? Day or night. You can just show up, no notice needed."

Bucky glanced around the room at his new friends (one day he might even go so far as to call them his family) and nodded. He'd come out here this week to be selfless, to repay a kindness shown to him, but had been given much more than that in return. He smiled genuinely, feeling a warmth spreading in his chest. "I do now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait. If you've followed me for any of my other works, you know this is unusual. I promise you will not have to wait this long for the next chapter.
> 
> Thanks for reading! We'd love to know what you thought!


	3. Chapter 3

_April_

Bucky Barnes closed the lid of his laptop, unable to watch yet another episode of _Fixer Upper_. Ever since he and Clint had set a date for the renovation, he had been watching as many YouTube videos about glue-down hardwood floors as possible (both successes and failures), in order to be familiar with aspects of this new mission. He'd reached the last page of searches a while back but then, in the interest of self-preservation, Steve had introduced him to HGTV, which had unleashed a whole other box of worms when Bucky quickly became addicted to their many renovation shows. Sean Maguire, his therapist, said it was because the hosts were making something new and good out of something old and unassuming, a metaphor for Bucky's own life, but the former Soldier really just liked seeing something beautiful be made from so much destruction.

He stood up, interlaced his fingers and extended them up to the ceiling, feeling the discs in his spine slip back into place. As he let his hands fall back to his sides, his gaze fell on the folders poking out from underneath his bed. He hadn't had time to look at them in the last few months for many reasons, most important of which was his certification as an active SHIELD field agent.

All throughout February, Bucky had endured innumerable fitness tests, firearm proficiencies, psych evals, interviews, assessments and staged missions, all of which he'd (eventually) passed with flying colors. Then, at the end of five long weeks of 9-5 work, Coulson had informed him he was ready to be sent on a small non-lethal operation with Sharon Carter the following week. It was his final test: if he brought back the intel in a manner inline with SHIELD's vision and Sharon didn't play any active role in the operation other than watching his back, Bucky would graduate to an active field agent. Thankfully, the op had gone exactly according to plan and, as he handed over the recorder to Coulson, the Director smiled so widely Bucky thought his skin was going to tear.

"Welcome to SHIELD, Agent Barnes," Coulson had said, patting Bucky once on the shoulder before disappearing into his office.

Barnes was sure his life would slow down after that, as he settled into his new job, but he couldn't have been more wrong. Between his newbie missions, getting his brain picked for HYDRA's next possible moves, sitting (not-so) idly by during Avengers missions prepared to be impromptu backup, or dealing with a new sect set on destroying the existing American government structure, Bucky barely had any time to himself. He spent the breaks he did have catching up on the last seventy years of history with Steve, shoving as much as he could into his swiss cheese brain, catching up on seventy years of pop culture (which was significantly more fun), and learning how to be a human again. He discovered he enjoyed running when no one was chasing him and that he also didn't mind baking as long as it was from a box and didn't require more than three additional ingredients.

The day after he'd gotten back from his graduation mission with Sharon, Steve had even planned him a birthday party. It was a pseudo-surprise, meaning Bucky wasn't aware that a party was happening, but the team's very recognizable cars had been staged up and down the street, so Bucky had had ample time to prepare himself for some sort of gathering as he pulled into the apartment's parking lot. Given that he hadn't celebrated his birthday in seventy years, he had actually forgotten that the occasion _meant_ something to other people; therefore, he was genuinely surprised to find a giant cake with his name on it sitting on the kitchen table, surrounded by his friends, all of whom were decked out in some sort of horrendous party gear. Even Clint and Lucky had shown up, thanks to Coulson lending Clint a quinjet so he could be back for Lila's school play the next day. While festivities ensued, Bucky had been sure to take plenty of pictures and videos to look back upon on any future bad days.

The rest of March and April had sped by, with a brief blip for Natasha's show which they stayed in Manhattan to see multiple times. After that had passed, Bucky had turned his attention to Clint's gift and began dedicating time to learning as much as he could about renovations and the tools that accompanied what Clint was planning on doing.

Still, as much as he loved the renovation shows, there was only so much of the same premise he could watch in a row. So, for a welcome break, Barnes pulled out the folders and perused the four remaining sheets. Steve and Tony's sheets were still almost empty, as was Bruce's. Fortunately, it was warming up enough that he would be alright doing the legwork for Sam's gift; the only issue was that it required a road trip.

He briefly considered not telling anyone and just leaving, but he knew Steve would be worried, and that was mission incompatible. Also, he had just gotten this job at SHIELD—he wasn't keen on losing it by not showing up to his scheduled meetings. So he decided it'd be appropriate to tell his boss and only his boss. This way, the number of worriers was kept to a minimum, but someone would know what was going on if something went wrong. Besides, he had been working long and hard these last few months without complaints so he'd figured Coulson would be okay with his trip, especially when he told his new boss what it entailed.

Smiling widely, Bucky pulled out Sam's sheet and began sketching out a timeline, eventually penciling in a date in late June. This gave him almost two entire months to surveil the facilities he'd be visiting, time to put together a plan for breaking into them and had the added bonus of being two solid weeks after the Barton mission in case his second vacation ended up being an issue with his new boss.

He waited until the middle of May to tell Coulson, on the off chance he had misjudged the timeline and needed to readjust. Fortunately, everything was going to plan. With hours of various surveillance tapes under his belt, he expected his trip to take three days, baring no surprises, four if any arose. Coulson immediately refused, vehemently against with one of his agents going into such a dangerous situation without backup, but Barnes had stood firm and very meticulously laid out the reasons why it was better he went alone, just like he had practiced. In the end, Coulson slowly came to realize that his new agent was right, no matter how much he didn't approve of the circumstances. Coulson did insist Bucky wear a temporary tracker in his shoe, which Bucky quickly agreed to, knowing it was a good a deal as he could have expected.

Now, all he had to do was tell Steve. He'd put the conversation off for a long as possible, for reasons he wasn't quite sure of. Granted he'd never been gone this long before but Rogers was always very understanding about Bucky going off by himself during the day: he never tried to talk Bucky out of it and only usually asked one or two questions about how Bucky could be reached in case of an emergency. So the logical part of Barnes' brain knew he was worrying over nothing, but he couldn't quite convince the rest of his mind to follow suit.

In order to combat some of this unease, Bucky waited until the week after the Barton mission to bring it up so he'd have a positive going-away experience under his belt. The day after he got back, he wandered into the front room of their Brooklyn apartment where Steve was pouring over a mission briefing. When Rogers heard Bucky's footsteps in the hallway, he snapped the folder closed.

"Sorry," he said of his instinctive action.

Bucky just shrugged, completely understanding that he wasn't cleared for everything yet, despite his recent successes. "One day," he replied, hoping that one day that statement would indeed be true.

Steve nodded and slid the folder out of the way to give Bucky his full attention. "So what's up?"

"I need to go out of town next weekend."

"Okay Buck. Thanks for letting me know." Steve paused for a second, then asked, "Can I ask where you're going?"

"Up and down the coast." Bucky played his statement off as purposefully vague, as if he was being spontaneous and didn't really know quite what he was going to do. He wanted to offer enough information so his friend wouldn't worry, but he knew if Steve told him the real reason he was going, Steve would be coming with. Bucky wasn't willing to take that chance, no matter how super a soldier Steve was.

"Are you going for fun? Or is this SHIELD-related?"

"For fun." Bucky said with a genuine grin: he was going to have a fantastic time liberating Hydra of part of their emergency stashes.

"Sounds great, Buck. When should I expect you back?"

"A couple of days. Three...maybe four," Bucky responded, still trying to be nonchalant about the whole trip.

"Awesome."

Bucky blinked, replayed Steve's response in his head to make sure he hadn't imagined it, then stared at his friend, unable to decide between 'disgust' or 'confusion' for his expression. "Since when do you say 'awesome'?"

"People at SHIELD say it all the time," Steve explained with an off-hand shrug. "Thought I'd give it a try. How did it sound?"

"Awful. Never do that again."

"Good thing I have you around to keep me on the straight and narrow."

"You'd be lost without me," Bucky shot back, adding a dramatic eye-roll for good measure.

Silence settled over the room and, after moment to ensure the conversation was indeed over, Bucky turned to walk back to his room. As he did so however, an uneasy feeling began to settle into his stomach. "I'm coming back you know," he said lightly, over his shoulder, so they both could pretend it was a casual statement.

He heard the chair legs screech against the tile, which he knew was Steve scooting back in case this conversation required physical contact, before his friend spoke up, "You don't have to Buck if you don't want to. You know that, right?"

Slightly stunned by the turn his statement had taken, Bucky stared blankly at Rogers while his mind raced to decode what Steve had just said.

"I've actually been meaning to talk to you about this for a while now—just haven't found a way to bring it up." Steve began to run his hands though his hair, a sure sign he was nervous, which didn't do any less to alleviate Bucky's own unease. "This apartment is yours for as long as you want it—I just wanted to make sure you know you don't _have_ to stay here if you don't want to. I don't ever want you to feel like you have to be here, with me, doing what I do. If you want to get your own place and…" Steve shrugged, "I don't know, retire, walk dogs all day, read every sci-fi book you can get your hands on, travel, I'm totally on board with it."

An uncharacteristic feeling begin to itch at the back of Bucky's eyes and he scrunched up his face in an desperate attempt to make it _go_. _Away_!

"I really appreciate that, Steve," Bucky began, surprising even himself by the levelness and evenness of his voice. "But I really am happy here in Brooklyn, sharing this place with you, working for SHIELD. I don't know if it's what I want to do forever, but I know it's what I want to do now."

Steve nodded, his expression one of happiness despite the slightly sad tilt to his eyes. "Fair enough. If that changes, you just let me know," he added after a second's pause.

"I will." Bucky nodded once more then hurried back to his room before any more _emotions_ could make themselves known. He took a deep breath once he was safely inside his room and scrubbed his hand up and down his face. It was the truth—Steve had given him something he hadn't had in years: a real home, where he felt safe, warm, comfortable. He wasn't looking to give that up anytime soon.

He allowed himself another few moments to linger on those pleasant thoughts before he pushed them out of the way and refocused on his missions: he had a lot to do in the next fourteen days in order to ensure the raids went off without a hitch. Still, he found watching the surveillance tapes wasn't as bad with the small warmth still burning in his chest, reminding why he was doing all this.

* * *

Two weeks later, at 0948 Friday, Bucky pulled into an decrepit strip mall on the outskirts of Hartford, Connecticut. The strip mall had long since seen its heyday but still had a few shoppers visiting the two open outlet stores on the end closest to the freeway. Bucky however drove down the long parking lot and pulled in at the far end of the strip mall, in front of a small storage unit. He knew he'd been there once before on a mission, the area just as deserted then as it was now, making it the perfect place for a Hydra base.

Two guards sat casually in folding plastic chairs in front of the entrance to the storage facility. They were each carrying Glocks but Bucky knew from his surveillance that knew the one on the left had an ankle holster as well, making him the first priority to take out.

Barnes checked his watch, then pulled on a set of gloves, stuffing the left sleeve of his T-shirt inside the wrist of the glove to keep his arm hidden. Then he took a deep breath, then stepped out of the armored truck Coulson had lent him. He made a show of stretching his hands over his head and felt reassured by the press of the metal handgun against the small of his back, the knives strapped to each leg and nearly flat grenades modified by FitzSimmons in his pockets.

He wasn't planning on using the weapons if he didn't have to, part of the proof he was no longer solely Hydra's mindless assassin, but he wasn't naive enough to assume the Hydra agents were frightened enough of him to let him through without putting up a fight. So he steeled his expression against the panic that was starting to swell through his system, pulled a thick duffel bag from the bed of the truck and headed over to the storage unit, hiding the way his breath quickened through his teeth by breaking into a brisk jog.

When he was in twenty feet of the entrance, the two guards stood up, the one on the left resting his hand almost casually on his weapon.

"Can we help you?" the officer on the right, an older man, asked.

Bucky nodded. "I'm here to rent a unit," he said, with his full Brooklyn drawl.

"We're full," the younger officer stated brusquely.

"That's a shame." Bucky schooled an unhappy expression onto his face and continued stepping toward the guards, under the guise of his cover's determinedness. "It's just this bag," he said, holding it out and rattling it to reveal the fact that it was practically empty. "Surely you could just—"

"I said we're full!" the younger man snapped, his grip tightening on his gun.

By this point, Bucky was within arm's reach of the men and he smiled almost ferally as he swung (literally) into action. Lefty, the younger officer, flew backward as the duffel crashed into his face. In the same motion, Bucky threw out his flesh fist, connecting with the older officer's nose. As Righty bent over, cursing up a storm, Bucky drove his knee into the man's chin, sending him crumpling to the ground unconscious.

Barnes then turned his attention to Lefty who was just getting to his feet. The former Soldier tossed the bag to his other hand then yanked it horizontally through the air. Lefty's eyes widened as he ducked, so focused on the bag that he missed the kick Bucky threw at his kneecap. He too went down, screaming in pain, before Bucky pulled the weapon out of the small of his back and knocked him unconscious with the grip.

Bucky quickly zip-tied the unconscious guards then dragged them down two storefronts to the abandoned Nike outlet. He was breathing hard, not from exertion, but from the flood of memories that were gushing back. He had known that walking back into the old Hydra bases was going to difficult and possibly triggering, but it had been too good an opportunity to pass up. He'd prepared himself for this but even still, the gruesomeness of some of the memories caught him off-guard. His fist tightened instinctively and he found himself crushing the metal doorjamb he'd been leaning against for support. It took longer that it should have for him to get back to himself, which only reinforced the idea that it was right for him to be raiding this Hydra unit in the first place: the sooner it was out of commission, the better.

He stood there, catching his breath, until he heard a soft squeak from the other side of the warehouse. The two other guards on patrol would be heading back soon and would discover their missing coworkers if Bucky didn't get going. Barnes took one final deep breath, centered himself by imagining the look on Sam's face when he saw his gift, then straightened up and strode purposefully into the storage unit.

* * *

A young SHIELD agent was pacing up and down the long corridor outside Maria Hill's office when she returned from Sunday brunch with a possible candidate for the new Council.

"Can I help you?" she asked, as she flashed her badge at the reader and the door clicked open.

"Yes," the girl said, looking her superior officer in the eye. "Well, maybe. It depends—"

"This year, Agent Hunting."

"I found this on the surveillance network while I was looking for the blue Chevy from May's mission." Hunting flipped her tablet around and played for Maria footage of a man with shoulder-length hair expertly taking out three armed men outside of warehouse in Camden, North Carolina. Hunting sped up the footage, which was now of the empty storefront while the man was inside, but slowed it down again when the man exited carrying two duffel bags stuffed to the seams. Thirty seconds later, the warehouse exploded into an enormous fireball, the three armed guards safely out of reach of the flames. It was hard to tell with the grainy footage but Hill was fairly sure the long-haired man was _smiling_ as he dropped the bags into the back of the truck and drove away. "That _is_ Agent Barnes, is it not?"

Hill nodded. "When was this?" she demanded brusquely, trying to not let on that she had not been read into this particular mission.

"Saturday, 1213."

"Did you find anything else Agent?"

"He was in Hartford yesterday morning, then Woodstown, Ellicott City and Petersburg." Hunting tapped on her tablet, pulling up the security feeds on a screen slit into fours. Maria squinted at them, barely able to realize that only the Petersburg footage was taken indoors. "Zoom in on this one," Hill instructed, pointing at the top right corner.

Hunting nodded and the Virginia footage centered on the screen. As they watched, Bucky quickly and methodically stripped the shop of anything he could stuff into his duffel bags, all the while methodically setting small explosive charges around the building. Then he turned his attention to alleviating the back safe of its bills, bonds and jewels. On the way out, Hill saw Bucky pause by the counter, grab a knife on display and flip it twice in the air. He must have liked whatever he found for he nodded appreciatively and dropped it into the duffel bag. He took just two more steps toward the door before he hurried back and quickly swept the six remaining knives into the bag as well. Then he sprinted for the truck, which Hill was now able to recognized as one of SHIELD's own, and thumbed a detonator once he and the armed guards were safely out of the blast range.

"Any casualties?" Maria asked as the pawn shop went up in flames.

"None. All the people he's taken out are alive, though some required medical care." Hunting slid her fingers together, bringing the footage from Virginia back to its corner.

"Whose facilities?"

Hunting shrugged. "Not ours. I would assume HYDRA but I haven't found any evidence to back that up." Hunting took the tablet, tapped at it for a few moments, then showed it to Maria. "Also Coulson's team shows up less than thirty minutes after Barnes leaves."

Hill pretended to look disinterested, as if this was old news to her. "Who else knows about this?"

"Just me."

Maria nodded. "Let's keep it that way. This has now been moved to Level 7, our eyes only. If you get any other news about this, you take it directly to me, understand?"

"Yes, Director."

"That will be all."

Agent Hunting nodded and hurried to leave. As the door clicked closed behind her, Maria dropped into her extremely comfortable desk chair, leaned her head back against the padded headrest, then pulled out her phone and dialed Coulson.

"Is there something you forgot to tell me?" she asked as soon as he picked up.

"Barnes asked for permission to take out eight known HYDRA facilities. Not major bases, just storage for non-human assets," Coulson replied. In the background, she heard a sharp collision followed by a deep groan. "There, you're all caught up."

Hill began to massage the rapidly building ache above the bridge of her nose. "Dare I ask what he wants to do with the funds he's collecting?"

"It's going to a very noble cause," Coulson panted, just before the rapport of a gunshot, followed by some very high-pitched screaming, drifted over the line.

Maria exhaled loudly then said, "I'll start running damage control," with no enthusiasm. Dealing with the press was one of her least favorite parts of the job but, in the wake of the Triskellion fiasco, she was one of the few loyal agents who could be trusted to keep their composure in front of the cameras.

"Thank you," the Director replied quickly before the line went dead.

Hill shoved her phone back into her pocket then quickly made her way out of her office and back toward the cafeteria. She was going to need lots more coffee before she could deal with this mess.

* * *

Monday afternoon found Sam Wilson sitting in the volunteer office of the VA, organizing his brochures for next week's meeting. He glanced up when he heard a tap on the door and saw Bucky standing there, two large duffel bags in hand.

He motioned for Barnes to enter, then stood to offer assistance with the bags before remembering Barnes was almost as enhanced as Rogers. The corner of Bucky's mouth quirked up into what was almost a smile as he realized what Sam had set out to do and effortlessly dropped the bags onto Sam's desk.

"How have you been?" Sam asked as he eyed the bags, noting the smear of...was that _blood?..._ on one of the handles.

"Busy," Bucky replied as he dropped into a chair. "Open them."

Sam stared at Bucky for a moment, then cautiously slid open the zipper to reveal stacks and stacks of bills. Thousands of questions raced through his mind but he settled on the most obvious. "Where did you get all this?" he asked, as he unzipped the second bag to find cash as well as a myriad of other material assets.

"I liberated Hydra of it," Bucky replied proudly, straightening up in his seat and lifting his chin in a way that reminded Sam of his niece whenever she scored well on a spelling test.

Sam looked up sharply, the cheerful expression dropping off his face. "Are you alright? How did it go? Did you—"

Bucky frowned at Sam and waved his flesh hand dismissively in Sam's direction. "I'm fine. Physically and mentally. It felt damn good if that's what you were wondering. _Cathartic_ is the word I believe Sean would use."

Wilson watched Bucky's face for a tell and, upon finding none, nodded slowly. "Good for you, Bucky." Then he looked back at the cash. "So what did you want to do with the money?"

Bucky gestured at the desk. "I want you to have it."

"Bucky, I—"

"I want you to do good with it," Barnes continued, as if Sam hadn't spoken. "I want you to help people with it. I always hear you talking about how underfunded the VA is and it's better for all of us if Hydra is short a few million."

"Million?" Sam parroted.

"Yeah, about five, to the best of my knowledge." Bucky stood up and pulled a sheet of paper and a ring of keys from his pocket. He walked over to Sam's desk and laid them down. "This is only a small part of it. I didn't want to scare everyone by bringing in the full load. The rest is spread out over the city. I marked them for you," he pointed to six locations on his map. "And here are the keys and/or combinations to access them."

Sam prided himself on being fazed by very little in life. Aliens in New York? He could roll with that. He meets Captain America jogging? He thought he played that very well, considering he hadn't gone full fanboy and made a complete idiot out of himself. Captain America shows up at his door asking for shelter? No problem, come right in, I'll make pancakes. SHIELD had been infested by Hydra, the evil 40s group that had been thought to have snuffed out decades ago? He'd put on a set of newly acquired wings and fought for the good guys.

This though.

He actually had to sit down in the desk chair as the ramifications of what Bucky had done sank in.

Barnes seemed to be confused by Sam's actions for he continued to speak to fill the silence. "I thought about just donating it in your name but I really don't know which organizations are good. I—"

"Thank you," Sam finally managed to get his mouth working.

Bucky's face split into a genuine smile. "Merry Christmas, Sam," he said as he left the Falcon to decide how to distribute the money.

* * *

Bucky had given Sam an absolutely incredible gift but now it required work on his part to ensure it had its intended purpose. With all his years in the VA, he had a good idea of which agencies were the best to donate to but he was going to do his due diligence by double and triple checking the facts he'd taken for granted. He poured over websites and advertisements, even calling some of the agencies on the metaphorical fence to discuss how much of a donation actually went to help people and how much went to line pockets. He made pro/con lists, read financial statements and even talked to a few people that had been helped by these agencies to see what kind of experience they'd had.

After two long weeks of research, he was finally able to narrow down his gift to three main areas: PTSD research, outreach programs helping vets reassimilate into everyday life, and the local VA, which had been hit hard by government cutbacks the last year. If he had unlimited funds, he would have gladly upgrade the facilities in every single one VA in the country but realistically he knew he only had the funds to truly advance one. This was part of the reason why he was diverting a portion of the funds to national aid and research agencies, so Bucky's gift could benefit even the people that weren't living in the D.C. area. Which branch he was going to improve had also been a great decision for him but in the end he'd chosen the VA that had helped him personally after his two tours overseas; it also happened to be the one he volunteered at so he was well aware of the tough decisions Kelly, the director, had had to make over the last year when a majority of their funding had been reallocated to help the city recover from the Fall of the Triskellion.

Now Sam had just one more piece of planning to take care of before he actually collected the funds. He needed to figure out what to do with the cash until he could figure out how to deposit it. He had a safe in the house for his weapons that would work in a pinch but he wasn't sure he trusted it enough to hold _five million dollars._ Also, upon staring at the quarter million Bucky had brought to his office, he wasn't sure it would all fit. Also, if the cash stayed at his house, Sam was sure he would be up all night, sitting in front of safe with a loaded shotgun to ward off any evildoers, like something out of a old western. So, for his own personal sanity, he needed to get rid of the physical bills as quickly as possible.

He knew exactly two people who were used to dealing with such large transactions so he pulled out his phone and dialed the one he was sure would answer.

"Sam!" Pepper Potts said warmly after just one ring.

"Hi Pepper. Is this a bad time?"

"Just a second." He heard her fingers clacking on the keyboard for a moment, followed by a harsh click. "Done."

They quickly exchanged pleasantries before Sam explained the entire situation, including what he was planning on doing with the money. Pepper listened quietly, only interjecting a "he did what?!" when Sam told her whose bases Bucky had infiltrated.

"So what exactly can I help you with?" Pepper asked when Sam was finished.

"According to Bucky, most of the funds are cash. I don't think it will go well if I walk into the VA with bags and bags of bills, but I have no idea how I am supposed to deposit it all without ending up on a watchlist."

"Hmmm. Let me see." He heard Pepper typing on her keyboard for a few moments before she hummed approvingly. Not long after that, his own phone vibrated. "I just sent you an email with Malcolm Krall's contact information. He works in our satellite D.C. office. He should be able to help you out."

"Without the Secret Service tapping on my door?"

Pepper laughed. "Without the Secret Service tapping on your door. He's one of the best in the business."

As Sam felt some of the apprehension about the next day's activities leech out of his system, Pepper continued, "I'd also be happy to look at your plans from a business perspective, if you wanted. I have no doubt you did an excellent job detailing everything but sometimes there are loopholes and—"

"That would be wonderful, Pepper," Sam said quickly, before she could get started. Pepper was a great co-CEO of SI because she worried about the details. Right now though, he couldn't listen to her detail the thousands of ways he probably didn't consider his donations being used in ways he didn't particularly care for—he had enough things to worry about for the next twenty-four hours. That didn't mean he didn't want her help though; he was sure the new perspective would only benefit everyone involved. "Thank you much. I'll send you a copy later."

"Miss Potts?" Sam heard Nancy, Pepper's secretary say, over the line.

"I'll let you get back," he quickly replied. Just as he was about to end the call though, Pepper spoke up, her voice muffled as if her hand was over the receiver. "Just a second, Nancy. Sam?" she asked, her last question much more clear.

"Yes?"

"Don't be a stranger. We haven't seen you since April."

Sam nodded, not that she could see, a warm smile on his lips. "I'll make a trip up soon. I promise."

"I'll hold you to it," she said, before hanging up the call.

Still smiling, Sam slid his phone into his pocket, then walked into his unofficial computer room where he quickly pulled up the document detailing his plans for the funds and emailed it to Pepper. While he was in his email, he opened the message from the co-CEO containing Krall's contact information and dialed the number to set up an appointment.

Upon introducing himself, Sam was quickly told that no appointment was necessary and that he could just stop by when he had the funds. Suspecting Pepper had had a large influence over that decision, Sam had thanked Malcom and, after glancing at the clock, said he would be by before closing. He had already worked out the most effiencit route for hitting the hiding places and knew he could be at Krall's place by four, if he left now.

Sam had immediately taken off in his own truck, hitting the subway lockers first. Sam approached the locker with caution, in case Hydra had followed Barnes to it, constantly scanning the room looking for people who didn't belong. Before he entered the combination, Sam had carefully examined the exterior of the locker, looking for wires, traps, or any other signs of tampering. When he had found none, he had carefully opened it and scanned duffels with a portable X-ray machine he'd "borrowed" from Stark back in April before removing them. Much to his relief, there were no unpleasant surprises waiting for him at any of the six locations.

After emptying the last hiding place, he'd driven straight to Malcolm Krall's office. Sam had been counting on this being the easy part of the mission but he hadn't been prepared for the incredible paranoia that had struck the moment he'd pulled onto the parkway to get back to D.C. proper. His gaze flickered the whole way between his rearview and side mirrors, mentally noting every car that drove behind or past him, trying to see if there was any patterns, certain everyone knew he was transporting a multi-million dollar payday. By the time he got there, he was mentally exhausted and more than ready to hand over the physical bills.

True to Pepper's word, there were no Secret Service agents waiting to arrest him as soon as he stepped into Krall's office with just two of the duffel bags; she'd failed to mention how nice a place this firm was though and he felt woefully underdressed in his collared shirt and new jeans. Much to his surprise, Krall made no mention of his appearance and just offered the use of the cart from the break room in order to limit the number of trip Sam had to make.

Sam was prepared to explain the entire situation as soon as he had lugged in all the baggage (leaving names out, of course) but Krall just shook his head. "No need. I probably don't want to know anyway."

Sam considered objecting but instead shook his head and didn't respond.

"Let's see what we're dealing with here." Malcolm gently opened one of the bags and whistled softly at the large sums. "I'm not sure what you can do with the jewelry," Sam said as Krall gently lifted an ornate necklace and rested the pendant in his palm. "There's a few bonds in there too."

"I will do my best," Malcolm said, carefully laying the necklace back in the bag. "I'll call you as soon as your account is set up."

Two days later, Sam walked out of Malcolm's office holding a bank statement with more zeros than he had ever seen in one place written on it. Sam had tried to compensate the man for his time and impeccable work ethic but Krall assured him his salary from SI more than covered it.

Now that the funds were electronic, it was easy for him to donate 1.5 million to PTSD research at the NIMH and 1.5 million to the Disabled American Veterans Charitable Service Trust, with the stipulations Pepper had added to ensure the fund ended up in the right place. He kept the last two million for his upkeep of his local VA, eager to put funds back into three of the programs that were hit the hardest with the most recent cutbacks.

First, he wanted to hire more licensed counselors (part-time or otherwise) in order to better man the crisis line or perhaps even have walk-in hours for both therapy or advising purposes. He also wanted to give the volunteers a small fund they could draw from in order to better connect with the people they were trying to help.

Second, he wanted to update all the gym and therapy equipment. It was hard for the therapists and trainers to do their jobs when the equipment kept failing or wasn't working up to standard. Sam was originally going to just donate the money for this purpose but Pepper had suggested maybe purchasing the equipment he knew they needed. This would cut down on the time and red tape it would take for corporate to approve and actually make the purchase, which meant they could be helping people much more had quickly. Sam had completely agreed and had, after covertly making note of all the equipment in the gym, began researching local outfits to purchase the new machines from. He'd eventually found two places, both local and both of which were struggling to stay afloat, that had what he needed. They were so eager for his very large purchase that they offered him a great discount on all the exercise and physical therapy equipment. He'd accepted the deal in the end only because his sale was so large that the local businesses would be profiting, even with the discount.

Lastly, he wanted to shore up an adjacent food bank that was known to cater to a majority of veterans. He'd heard through the grapevine that they too were struggling to keep up with the almost overwhelming number of people that needed food and other items. With Krall's help, he invested a portion of the upgrading funds into an account that would garner interest and provide the food bank with an emergency fund they could draw from if donations didn't come through. With the little bit he had left over, he was also going to outright shore up the pantry's staples until the shelves were overflowing.

Most importantly though, Sam Wilson wanted this to be as much of a surprise for the staff and visitors to the VA and food bank as it had been for him to receive Bucky's gift, which meant he was going to have to accomplish the equipment swap and the pantry stocking in one night. In order to accomplish that, he was going to need some help.

He picked up his phone and dialed a number he'd committed to memory long ago. "Director Coulson?" he asked, when a man answered. "Sam Wilson. Do you have a minute?"

* * *

One week later, Sam was sitting in a golf cart, just outside the guard's outpost at the entrance to the VA.

"Kelly just left," Angus, the night guard who was guarding the other entrance, announced into the walkie talkies.

Sam raised his walkie to his mouth and said. "That's our cue." With his other hand, Sam motioned to Gary, the other night officer, who hit the switch to open the back gate. Sam had stayed late the night prior to enlist the help of the night staff, knowing they had no chance of unloading all this equipment without being spotted. Some had willingly agreed to help when Sam told them about the cause or which Avenger they might be meeting. Others were less enthusiastic until Sam parted with a few bills from the emergency stash.

As the metal gate swung open, a caravan of moving trucks began pouring in. Sam stepped on the gas of his own vehicle and led the trucks around the exterior of the facility to the loading dock on the far side, where he swiped his badge to raise the large door. He then looked straight into the security camera and shot the lens two thumbs up for the out-of-state watchers. He knew Tony, who couldn't make the trip due to international Stark Industries business, was monitoring the system from Manhattan, wiping credentials from the system and looping the security footage, in order to keep this a true surprise.

When the door had finally ground open, Wilson pulled his golf cart off to the side as the two low-level SHIELD agents Sam had let into the VA earlier hopped down from inside the loading dock and began guiding the driver in. Once the truck was backed flush with the concrete, Steve and two other agents hopped out of the cab and started unpacking the cargo. While the unenhanced were forced to pair up in order to move one piece of equipment, Steve easily lifted a box over his head and effortlessly walked into the VA, leaving a flurry of unamused grumbles in his wake.

"Natasha, how's it going at the shelter?" Sam said into the walkie. The Widow had volunteered to take a group of agents to help stock up the shelter and to drop off the handout bags they had assembled earlier from the new undershirts, underwear, socks and toiletries they had purchased en masse. She was also leaving a slip of paper on the director's desk, which had the bank account numbers and current balance on it. Sam hadn't had clearance to get into the pantry but the redheaded spy had looked almost offended when he had asked if that was going to be a problem.

"Almost in..." she muttered. He heard a soft click followed by Natasha announcing, "Got it."

"Keep me posted." Sam clipped the walkie to his belt, then rolled up his sleeves and helped Sharon Carter carry a weight bench to the VA's gym, where a team of agents was continuing to pack up the old equipment and prepare it to be taken back out to the truck.

Sam and Sharon dropped off their bench and picked up a StairMaster. As they rolled it into the loading dock, Sam caught sight of a group of agents painting the chipped and cracking side of the VA.

"I didn't..." Sam huffed, unable to complete his sentence in his exertion. He fell silent as he and Sharon worked to tip the heavy piece of machinery into the back of the truck, leaving it for Steve to easily arrange them.

"We did," she replied, leaning against the arm railing for a quick second and wiping the sweat out of her eyes. "The paint is made of a special compound that repels everything but itself. According to FitzSimmons, it will be the end of your graffiti problem and if it's not, they have three or four more prototypes sitting around, ready to be tested."

Sam was silent for a moment, feeling a swell of gratitude in his chest. All he ever wanted to do was help people and with Bucky's gift, he was able to. But that wasn't the end of it: seeing everyone else be here, to help out, to really make something special for those in need, that was a whole other present in itself.

"Let's get back to work," he ground out, trying to keep some semblence of control in front of the very attractive agent.

Carter shot him a knowing smile but nodded. "On it, boss."

* * *

Sam Wilson walked nonchalantly passed the VA's gym the next morning. As he'd hoped, he found a majority of people congregated inside, making it totally feasible that he himself stopped to check out what was happening. As he stepped into the gym, he saw the therapy and gym staff staring in silent awe at their brand new equipment.

His immediate thought was that he wished Bucky could have been there to see their reactions, as this gift was his doing. He considered taking a picture but knew that would look suspicious; instead, he made a note to have one of his new superfriends acquire the security footage for him at the end of the day.

"Wow!" he whistled, feigning ignorance of the entire situation. "Who did this?"

"No idea," Kelly said, almost mechanically, as she swept her gaze again over the shiny new equipment. "But we owe them a huge thank you."

"There's a note!" Pat, one of the therapists, called.

_A note? They hadn't left a note._ Sam didn't have to pretend to be intrigued as he followed the rest of the room over to the closest treadmill, where Pat was holding a tent of paper in the air.

"What does it say?" someone asked.

" _Thank you for all you do,_ " Pat read. Then she flipped the card around so everyone could see it. "Signed SW and JB." Sam felt adrenaline start to flow through his veins at the thought of his imminent recognition, but he forced himself to breath normally and examined the card closely like everyone else. He quickly noted that the "SW" was written in the same handwriting as the note but someone else had added the "and JB". Sam recognized both sets of handwriting: Bucky had written the note and Steve had added Bucky's initials to it.

"SW," Kelly said out loud, her brows furrowing as she mentally ran through the names of her employees. Then her eyes widened slightly and she looked over at Sam.

"Do you think I can afford all this?" Sam asked, with a healthy amount of disbelief in his tone. "There's hundreds of thousands of dollars of equipment here."

"No," Kelly said slowly. "I suppose not." There was something in her expression led Sam to believe she wasn't entirely convinced. Before either of them could respond, a few patients drifted through the door, their expressions of awe mirroring those of the employees.

"I'll leave you to it," Kelly said to the therapists, nodding politely at newcomers who were still crowded in the doorway. The therapists then began to walk over to their charges so Sam and the rest of the non-therapy personnel took this as their cue to leave as well.

As he stepped into the hallway, he found Kelly standing just outside the doorway, pretending to read a new poster on the community bulletin board. "Tell your friend thank you," she said softly, so only Sam could hear. "And be sure they know they are welcome here any time."

Sam just nodded, his expression deceptively blank, as he began to plot ways to get Bucky down to D.C. to see the good his gift was doing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was sure Sam's chapter was going to be 4k words max. My muse had other ideas.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with us! We'd love to know what you thought!
> 
> (Also we're on Tumblr ['usaonetwothree' and 'you-cant-just-import-answer'] if you'd like to discuss!)


	4. Chapter 4

As Bucky moved Sam's sheet into the green folder, he realized he had only six months to complete his last three gifts. While some might say he was right on track, he knew he was technically behind since he had no viable ideas for Steve, Tony or Bruce.

He'd all but accepted that Steve's was going to be the last one he'd complete since he still didn't know what to get the person who'd never given up on him, in good times or bad so he shuffled Rogers' sheet to the back of the pile and pulled out Tony and Bruce's. Laying them side-by-side, he scanned each sheet again, hoping to bring forth some sort of revelation. Unfortunately, all he discovered was a wealth of awful ideas.

Sighing, he put their sheets down and thought about what he'd learned in the six months since he'd penciled in these ideas. What came to mind the quickest was how the media was determined to paint Tony and Bruce as cruel monsters, especially in light of the Sokovia tragedy, despite the fact that they were anything but.

Bucky knew about Tony's checkered past from researching the Superfriends when he'd been tasked with taking down Steve (a period he was truly trying to forget). However, he was also aware of the huge steps the inventor had made to try to wipe that version of himself out of existence. These days, Tony was all about leaving the world a better place both with his Avenging and his company's push for affordable green energy. Despite all the good he and his company were doing, the media was fixated on the Ultron incident, saddling Tony, and later Bruce, with the full blame. Wanda had wanted to step forward to explain how her powers had accelerated Ultron's creation but Tony and Bruce had both vehemently refused, wanting her to have a fresh start in this country, out of as many prying eyes as possible.

If Bucky had unlimited time and resources, he could endeavor to changing the public's opinion of his friends. He couldn't however think of anything that Stark Industries' overworked PR team wasn't already trying. In the interest of completeness though, he grudgingly noted the idea on their sheets. With a grand load of _nothing_ accomplished, he put the papers back in the blue folder and resigned himself to more research.

Over the next few weeks, he found himself at the Tower or on the base more and more frequently as the team worked to help Coulson build new SHIELD. In his off time, Barnes surveilled Bruce and Tony, hoping to come across a substantial gift idea in the process. Bruce spent at least half the day in Tony's personal labs, where the two developed, tested and more frequently than not, blew stuff up. Bruce left more frequently than Tony who then moved on to designing and improving uniforms and weapons as well as beta-testing and reviewing inventions or papers his fellow scientists had sent him. The rest of Banner's time was split among outreach programs, the occasional conference, interacting with his fellow Avengers, or reading and meditating at the nook Tony had designed on the north side of the common floor after he realized how much time Bruce spent up there.

With JARVIS' help, Barnes had discovered that Bruce electronically checked in on a "Betty Ross" at least once a week. After his own googling, Bucky identified Dr. Elizabeth Ross was Banner's old girlfriend. While getting them together would have been nice, especially since she apparently shared his brand of nerd, Bucky decided that things like love were things that needed to be handled personally. Plus, if it didn't work, he didn't want to ruin what relationship he had with Banner.

Tony was more difficult to read, as his own free time was swept up in business related to the Stark Industries Symposium. From what Bucky understood, students submitted portfolios that showcased the ideas, inventions or research they'd been working on, in almost any category. One hundred of these students would be hand-picked by Pepper, Tony and a panel of higher-ups from the R&D department for the actual symposium. The students would give a presentation on their research in front of as many recruiters and well-known heads of technology that Pepper's team could drum up. It was an opportunity to these students to be noticed, to have their ideas heard by people who had gone through very similar processes at other points in their lives.

Between that and his regular work, Tony was almost never around, leaving Barnes very little time to investigate opportunities for his gift. Sightings of Stark were more regular on the weekend after Pepper enacted a no-work policy for both of them after 3 PM on those days. Even then Tony mainly crashed on the couch to get caught up on their television shows or to destroy the rest of the team at one of the many video games sent to him by hopeful designers.

There wasn't anything there that screamed for an intervention in those activities so, in lieu of a rash decision he would later regret not spending the appropriate time on, he decided to continue waiting, hoping something Bruce or Tony said or did would inspire their gifts.

One such opportunity made itself known just after Labor Day. He and Steve were in Manhattan for the three day weekend, since Tony had informed them it was an event that was not to be missed. On Friday, Bucky was sitting in the breakfast nook of the massive kitchen, having been woken up rudely at four a.m. by a bone-chilling memory. After taking a few laps up and down the stairs to calm his mind, he'd settled in the kitchen with a tablet, a book, and a large cup of hot chocolate. He was joined a few hours later by Natasha, who looked equally troubled. Bucky didn't comment but instead shifted over so there was room for her on the bench as well.

Around eight, Bruce walked in, dressed in a suit, his hair _styled_ and pushed out of his face. From the minute Banner set foot on the tile, Bucky knew something was wrong. Bruce, who was known for his a softer presence, was radiating tension, his whole body a series of angles.

"Where are _you_ going?" Natasha asked as she put aside her novel.

"Court," Bruce mumbled.

Natasha sat straight up, her hands clenching in a gesture Bucky wasn't even sure she was aware of. "For what?" she asked, barely keeping her tone level.

"South Africa," Bruce said, equally softly, as he poured himself a kettle full of water and put it on the stove.

"Bruce," Natasha said softly, getting up and walking around the island so she was in his eyeline. "You should have told us."

Bruce stared intently at the pattern in the granite, his fingers tapping absently against the stone.

"Do you want some of us to come with you?" Natasha continued, undeterred by his silence.

Banner finally lifted his eyes to look into hers. "No," he said sadly. "That will just make it worse." After a moment, he added, "but thanks."

"I can also..." she began, pushing one fist into her other splayed hand.

"No need," Bruce said quickly.

Natasha looked slightly dejected at the thought of not being able to correct someone's misconception of her teammate but nodded, then reached out and laid her hand on his. "If you change your mind about either of those things, you let me know."

Banner just nodded, though it was fairly obvious he wasn't going to take her up on her offer.

Romanoff stared at him for another moment, looking slightly conflicted, before she reluctantly grabbed her novel and headed off to her mission briefing, throwing a quick "thanks" over her shoulder to Barnes in Russian.

Bucky grabbed the remainder of his breakfast, ready to make his own exit, as Bruce was very clearly radiating that he wanted to be left alone. He'd barely made it to the door before he turned around, unable to leave his friend looking so forlorn.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Bucky asked quietly, so as not to startle Bruce, who had quickly drifted off in his own world—hopefully a peaceful one.

Banner started, his head whirling around to look at Bucky. "No," he said. "But thanks."

"You don't have to thank me for being a human being," Bucky recited, staring pointedly at Bruce.

"I said that," the physicist said slowly, looking up to meet Bucky's gaze.

"Now if you'd just remember it for yourself, that'd be great," the supersoldier stated as he walked over to the island so he was within arm's reach of Bruce.

The physicist looked confused for a moment before he fixed Bucky with a stern look. "You don't have to stay."

"I want to," Bucky said, taking a large bite of the apple he'd grabbed from the bowl in the middle of the island. "Besides, if I left, who'd be around to tell you your tea is done?"

At that exact moment, the kettle began to whistle. Banner actually scowled at him before turning around and grabbing an oven mitt.

"So," Bruce said resignedly as he pulled the kettle off the stove and poured two cups, "how 'bout those Dodgers?"

* * *

Bucky had wanted to go with Bruce to the trial but was quickly told by Pepper that that would be a bad idea, despite how good his intentions were. These people who were barely used to the Hulk after six years, were also the ones who were less than receptive to the idea that the man who had repeatedly shot and almost killed Captain America _and_ who had also been an infamous Hydra assassin, was now a future Avenger. Of course, Pepper said it much more politely and without the gory detail but Bucky knew what she was implying.

So he was forced to sit at the Tower, glued to the television, madly flipping between channels for any glimpse of the trial. Unfortunately he didn't have to look far as it was the main headline on almost every station.

The camera were rolling from the second Bruce stepped out of the parking garage elevator, the coverage not even ceasing when Banner got hit in the face with a rotten tomato. Bruce hardly so much as flinched as he pulled off his glasses, cleaned them with his handkerchief before scrubbing at the rest of his face with a clean corner. He threw the ruined piece of cheap cloth away before explaining what had happened to his lawyer, a blind man who relied heavily on the use of a cane to get around.

Bucky found his fists tightening and had almost sprinted over to the courthouse himself, determined to correct these people's opinions of the caring doctor, but he forced himself to stay seated and watch this horrible scene play out.

There was a lot of legalese that Bucky didn't understand but, after at least fifteen unnecessary commercial breaks, the judge ruled that the evidence presented in the hearing was enough to take the case to real trial. As the chatter in the courtroom exploded, Bucky saw Tony and Pepper quickly walk over to Bruce and shield him from the camera flashes as they spoke to him, their faces turned away from the camera to hide their exact words.

News of the verdict spread quickly through the town and to avoid unnecessary media attention Bruce kept himself sequestered in the Tower, only leaving when absolutely necessary. Coulson had offered him a stay in any SHIELD safe house he desired until the trial was over but Bruce politely refused, citing that it'd be worse for him to disappear entirely than to be staying at the Tower, out of trouble, and focusing on the Sokovian and South African relief efforts.

His spare time was spent mostly in the lab with Tony in attempt to regain some semblence of a normalcy, but even then it was obvious that his enthusiasm for inventing had been dampened slightly by the implications of the trial.

Finally, after a week, Bucky could watch Bruce hide no more. Despite what the physicist thought, he did need to get out of the Tower, breathe some fresh air, get away from the tension of the trial and out of his head, if only for a little while. Bucky knew how detrimental it was for Bruce to continue to stay here, contemplating, but he also knew if he pushed the issue too hard right off the bat, Bruce would reject it. So Bucky had to be careful in how he presented his idea but he also had to find an activity that Bruce could not turn down.

Bucky spent a few hours paging through lists of things to do around the Manhattan area, smiling widely when he found one that was a sure hit.

The next morning, Bucky wandered into the kitchen, "conveniently" at the same time Bruce was eating breakfast.

Banner looked up when he heard footsteps, smiled (though it hardly reached his eyes), then poked his nose back into the book he had propped against the salt and pepper shakers. Bucky watched for him eat for a moment, intrigued by how Banner wasn't spilling any on himself, even though he never looked away from the pages of his novel.

Then Barnes shook his head, grabbed a protein bar from the bowl on the counter and sat down two seats away with his tablet as he flipped to the news app he'd downloaded.

"They just opened a Body Worlds at the Science Center," he said nonchalantly, as he tore off a corner of his Cliffbar.

Bruce just hummed in reply.

"You should go," Bucky prompted, staring at Bruce's reflection in the stove to watch his reaction.

This time Bruce didn't respond at all, his face almost literally buried in the book.

Bucky waited again for a few long minutes before speaking up, "Dr. Banner." He snapped the fingers of his flesh hand softly.

Bruce quickly looked up, his eyes scanning the room to get his bearings, before his gaze landed on Bucky. "Did you need something?"

"There's a Body World exhibit at the Science Center. You should go check it out."

Bruce shot him a peculiar look. "Bucky, I hardly think they'd let me in, given…" he trailed off, swiping his hand through the air to indicate 'everything'.

"That's exactly why you need to go," Bucky stated, deciding it would be better to take the direct approach. "You can't just sit here until your trial, Bruce. I won't let you." The words came out more forcefully than Barnes had intended, surprising even himself.

"I mean, you shouldn't do that to yourself," he amended, shoving almost half of the protein bar into his mouth before he said something equally revealing.

Bruce looked at Bucky for a long moment, a myriad of expressions flitting over his face. "I'd like to, Bucky, but I still don't think it's a good idea for me to be seen around children. And if I announced myself, I'm sure they'd lose business."

"Then they don't have to know you were there," Bucky said, one corner of his mouth lifting in a smile.

Bruce stared at Bucky in confusion. After a second, understanding flitted into his brown eyes and he nodded slowly. "I suppose it might be nice to get out under the radar. When did you want to go?"

Barnes balked as he realized that Bruce thought he was going with. He hadn't intended on going to the museum himself, given the amount of children, unsecured rooms and a truly horrendous floor plan, but if it would make Bruce feel better, he supposed he could make it happen.

"We'd have to get Tony—"

Just then, a phone rang, the ringtone what sounded like the elements being melodically recited. Bruce rolled his eyes at the sound but did pick up the call. "Yes," was all he managed to get out before Tony took off on a long speech. With his enhanced hearing, Bucky was able to hear Tony ask why Bruce hadn't asked a few days ago for a disguise and how he had something perfect for this instance and that they should both meet him in the lab in an hour.

When he finally hung up, he turned to relay the message to Bucky who just tapped the shell of his ear to indicate he'd heard the whole conversation.

"Right," Banner acknowledged.

"See you in an hour," Bucky said as he quickly rose from his chair. In order to be down in Tony's lab for any length of time and leave the inventor unscathed, he needed to burn off some of his anxious energy. It was a fine line, finding the balance between exhaustion and activity: he needed to be cognizant enough to hold back the Soldier but not so out of it that he wasn't aware of his surroundings. With Nat and Steve's help, he'd developed a forty-minute workout that left him at just the right mental state.

As he headed toward the gym, Bucky caught Bruce glancing at his phone again, something akin to excitement flashing across his face and, in that moment, Bucky suspected he might have discovered what he could do for Bruce.

* * *

While they waited in line outside the science center, Bucky turned his left hand over, still admiring the holoskin Tony had designed for him. Apparently Stark and Fitzsimmons had been working on it for some time now, in order to aid his undercover missions, and had only just arrived at a prototype ready for beta testing. Besides his completely uncharacteristic clothes, he was also wearing a synthskin over his face, which altered some of his more noticeable features. He had been concerned when Tony had brought it out, fearing it would be too much like the muzzle, but even his enhanced senses could hardly pick up the feel of it once it was secured.

_Yay for modern technology_ , he muttered completely unironically as he clenched his fist and marvelled at how the skin reacted, showing the creases, veins and muscles underneath. He shook his head in amazement, then turned to look at Bruce, who was decked out in a baggy T-shirt, skinny jeans, contacts and high-top shoes. The physicist was also wearing contacts instead of his usual glasses, a fake beard and the hair around his temples had been coated with a fine black powder to mask the grey (Tony had had to get Pepper's help with that one).

After decking them both out, Stark had mentioned that he could russle up a disguise for himself and join them before Pepper had reminded him of their State of the Company address later. Tony had still looked like he wanted to skip but Pepper leaned over and whispered something in his ear, which caused him to quickly rescind his statement that he was interested in going with.

As much as he'd come to like Tony, the fact that Stark wasn't there was making Bucky's job easier: less variables to manage, especially those of the talkative, incredibly recognizable kind.

Speaking of...Bucky gently kicked out and tapped the back of Bruce's heel. The other man responded by straightening up and rolling his shoulders back, trying to make himself physically take up more space than he usually did. A child brushed by Bruce's leg and the physicist flinched slightly.

"You still want to go?" Barnes asked in a low tone as they shuffled yet another foot closer to the door.

"We've made it this far," Bruce returned, schooling the concern off his face. "Besides," he continued softly, turning back to look at Bucky. "I'm kinda looking forward to it."

"Then forward we go," Bucky replied, pulling his shoulders together as two elderly women on either side of him bumped into him.

Five long minutes later, Bruce and Bucky were at the front of the line and finally had a modicum of personal space. Bucky quickly handed over the vouchers he'd purchased online to the disinterested cashier, who spared them not a second glance before grabbing two paper wristbands and handing them over. Once Bucky and Bruce had set foot inside the museum though, they had to once again wait in line to go through the metal detector.

"You alright?" Bruce asked and Bucky realized his breathing had picked up.

"Fine," he ground out, forcing his heart to stop racing.

When they reached the machines a moment later, Bruce stepped in front of Bucky. "My friend has a surgically reconstructed arm," he told the security officer. Bucky blinked in surprise as Bruce projected an entirely different persona, strong, confident, sure of his place in the world. There was no hesitation in his tone, no slight stutter. This Bruce was sure of what he wanted and was set out to get it. "Lots of pins, plates, the whole works. It's amazing still has use of it actually."

The security officer just nodded, looking unimpressed. "Given all that, he's not so good with the…" Bruce trailed off and pointed to the machine. "Is there anyway you can just wand him instead?"

The officer looked at Bucky who shrunk his shoulders in an attempt to look as non-threatening as possible. After a long moment, the officer sighed. "Sure, right this way, sir." She held open a small metal gate and Bucky quickly stepped through it.

Bruce kept up a lively conversation about the weather with the other security guard as he strode confidently through the metal detector, grinning widely as he passed without setting it off.

"Are you ready sir?" a second officer asked, drawing Bucky's attention to the wand she was holding out. The former assassin sucked air through his ground teeth as the metal detecting tool reminded him of Hydra's amped up cattle prod.

_You can do this,_ he repeated in his head, stronger and stronger until he made himself nod.

He absolutely did not squint his eyes closed as the wand came closer and he definitely did not shred the voided voucher in his left hand into confetti, trying to keep his arm from swinging into motion.

Suddenly the wand stopped and he glanced up to see the woman staring at him again, this time with a kind expression.

"Did you serve?" she asked.

"Yes," Bucky replied quickly, as it was technically the truth. The words had left his mouth almost too quickly to be believable, but the security officer just nodded. "How did you know?" he asked.

"The way you stand, the way your eyes shift back and forth taking in the room...my brother was in Desert Storm," she added, assuming a much more relaxed stance. "I'll be careful, I promise." She took a gentle step forward, being careful to project her movements in advance.

While she outlined his body with the wand, Bucky kept calm by reminding himself why he was doing this, how happy Bruce had looked when he'd agreed and how much his friend deserved a win. Almost before he knew it, the woman was straightening up. "You're clear," she said, stepping sideways so he could enter the science center.

"Great, thanks," Bucky replied, smiling with a bit too much teeth.

"You're too kind," Bruce said loudly to the second guard, before practically pushing Bucky around the corner from the entrance. As soon as they were out of the guard's sight, Bruce visibly deflated back to the persona Bucky had come to know and he leaned against the wall, panting as if he'd just run a marathon instead of adopting a bright and bubbly personality.

"How did I do?" he wheezed, instinctively rubbing the bridge of his nose where his glasses usually sat.

"That was Oscar worthy," Bucky replied.

Banner shot him a lopsided grin as he slowly straightened up to his regular, slightly stooped posture. Bucky didn't bother to correct him, now that he knew Bruce could put on an act with the best of them.

"Shall we?" Bruce asked, excitement creeping into his voice as he motioned to the start of the exhibit. Barnes waited for a group of school children to pass them first before nodding, then followed the scientist through the massive curtains.

* * *

They spent the next four hours wandering around Body World, looking at organs both with and without diseases, joints and their replacements, bones and their prosthetics, "the Thinker" in blood vessels and more. Bruce was very methodical about the entire event, watching all the videos and reading all the promotional material before spending some time just looking at each of the displays. Bucky had been nervous that he was going to react badly to some of the more _interesting_ displays but there was something about the way the place was laid out that set it apart from the Hydra surgery rooms. The atmosphere of bright and bubbly employees and even more excited visitors that were there to learn, to make better, not to hurt or tear down did a lot to keep him from slipping. Besides, some of the exhibits were so surreal it was hardly looking like human tissue anyway, even though he was less than impressed by some of the bones he knew he'd seen inside a still living person. Regardless, he found himself having a good time, amazed by the advances science had made in the last seventy years to make this all possible.

As they finally stepped out of the exhibit, Bucky turned to Bruce. "So what did you think?" He asked, even though the excitement on Bruce's face gave away his reaction.

His eyes as wide as dinner plates, Bruce began talking at a speed Bucky had previously thought only Tony could achieve. "That was fantastic," he blurted out. "All that science. Did you see all the people in there?" Bruce continued to as they let themselves be swept up with the crowd on the way to the gift shop. About halfway down the hall, Bucky reached out, stopping Bruce from going forward.

"Do you want to go through the rest of the Center too?" he asked, motioning to the right hallway which supposedly lead to the main room of the center.

"Can we?" Bruce asked, trying and failing to keep the child-like excitement off his face.

Bucky pulled the one whole voucher from his pocket. "Sure can," he said, holding it out to the museum employee who motioned them through.

They walked down the hallway, which quickly became brighter and more elaborate as they got closer to the permanent exhibits. They rounded a corner and ended up in a "Physics Room". Said room was filled with two spinning discs where children held their arms out then tugged them in and saw how they sped up, three miniature climbing harnesses with different variations on the pulley system, a wall of light fixtures that developed knowledge of circuits, a tug-of-war with people holding the rope at different differences from the middle and finally a bed of nails.

Two boys were standing by the bed of nails, the younger one holding the remote gingerly, as if it were a detonator.

"No way!" The younger boy then declared, shoving the remote back at the older boy, who just barely managed to keep from dropping it.

"C'mon T.J., it'll be cool! I promise you won't get hurt."

"No way Dougie." The younger kid shot back, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at his brother. "Last time you said that, I broke my arm."

"You weren't supposed to fall out of the tree," the older boy, Doug, countered. He looked around and smiled when his gaze landed on Bruce.

"Hey, Mister!" he shouted, waving wildly at Bruce. "Can you come explain to my brother how this thing works?"

Bruce turned around, looking for an employee, until Bucky elbowed him lightly in the side. "He's talking to you," he whispered. Barnes hadn't planned this interaction but it had the potential to be an even better experience for Bruce than he could have hoped for.

"Me?" Bruce clarified, pointing at himself, and Bucky barely resisted rolling his eyes.

"Yes, sir," the kid replied crisply. "You work here, don't you?"

Bruce shook his head. "No I don't, sorry."

The older boy looked disappointed but he nodded. "Thanks anyway."

"Go over there," Bucky hissed under his breath.

"But I don't work here."

"The older kid just wants you to explain why the bed of nails isn't going to impale his brother. Doesn't matter if you work here or not."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea—"

"He's interested in science Bruce," Bucky interjected.

Banner exhaled loudly, took off his glasses, then rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You'd better come bail me out when I get arrested."

This time, Bucky really did roll his eyes. "Nothing bad is going to happen to you, Bruce. I got your back."

Banner looked strangely reassured by that, much to Bucky's surprise. He straightened up, then walked over to the kids. "I don't work here, but I'm have my degree in physics. Is there something I can help you with?"

Doug's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Yeah, mister. Can you explain how the bed of nails works to my brother? He's real analytical-like. He doesn't do anything that doesn't make sense to him."

Bruce nodded then walked over to the younger kid who was sitting by the wall, connecting currents.

"You know you won't get hurt on the bed of nails," he commented, sitting down beside the child.

T.J. shook his head. "Doesn't make sense. Nails are sharp, go through wood," he said absently as he pulled a lever which connected a circuit between two bulbs causing both to light up.

"Do you want your brother to try?" Bruce asked. "And I'll explain how it works."

The kid finally looked over at Bruce, almost shyly. "Could you?"

Bruce's heart skipped a beat as he recognized something in the kid's expression, one he was sure he'd worn a lot in his own childhood. "Absolutely."

He stood up and walked back to the bed of nails, tailed by the young boy.

"Alright...Doug, is it?" Bruce clarified and the older brother nodded. "You're going to lay on the bed of nails first."

Doug nodded and laid down on the holey piece of metal, resting his head on the mat. Bucky handed him the remote and, after taking a second to still himself, Doug pressed the up button. He rose slowly into the air as the nails pushed out of the metal and lifted him a few inches

"See?" Doug exclaimed, turning to look at his brother. Bruce immediately caught his shoulder and pushed it back down. "Stay flat, or you'll hurt yourself."

"I told you!" T.J. shouted but before he could run away, Bruce very gently reached out his hand, putting it just in front of the kid. If T.J. was really determined to leave, he could have brushed easily past but instead, he stopped and looked up at Bruce.

"It's only going to hurt him if he doesn't keep his entire body weight spread over the nails," Bruce began to explain. "You have snowshoes at home, right?"

T.J. nodded.

"How do those work?"

"They spread out my weight."

"Right! It's the same concept here. If you put your whole weight on one nail, you're going to get hurt. But if you spread your weight over all…" he paused to glance over at the bed, counting the number of rows and columns and quickly multiplying them in his head. "...200 nails, each nail only gets a small bit of your weight, just enough for you to feel its presence, but not enough to hurt you. If Doug sits up, his weight will be more concentrated around his bottom and that's how he could get hurt.

"Does that make sense?" he asked, looking over at the boy.

T.J. slowly nodded. "A giant snowshoe."

"Pretty much."

Bruce motioned to Doug who clicked the remote again and the nails slowly retracted into the bed. When they were completely gone, he shot up.

"See, Teej? Now do you want a turn?"

The kid looked over at Bruce once again. "I guess so," he said hesitantly.

"You don't have to," Bruce said, repeating the words Bucky had told him earlier. Doug looked like he wanted to interject but Bucky shot him a stern look.

"It's okay," T.J. finally said. "I'll give it a try."

He climbed up on the bed of nails and laid very stiffly, not moving a muscle. Bruce handed him the remote, which he immediately gripped like a lifeline. They waited almost a minute before T.J.'s thumb flicked out and tapped the switch, squeezing his eyes closed in anticipation.

As he began to rise, he cautiously opened one eye, then the other. "I'm alive!" he shouted, relaxing slightly into the nails.

Doug broke out into full-blown laughter. "I told you nothing was going to happen! Now isn't that cool?"

T.J. nodded as the nails came to a stop. "Quick, Dougie, take a picture!"

The older brother hurriedly pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of T.J., who grinned widely and shot the camera two thumbs up.

"Got it?" He asked and, when his brother nodded, he hurriedly flicked the down button.

"Phew," he said, once his back was on solid metal again. "Thanks mister," he said to Bruce as he hopped down.

"No problem," Bruce said.

Just then a woman dashed in with a younger sister. "Oh good, you're still here."

The younger boy raced over to the woman and grabbed her outstretched arm, tugging her over to the exhibit. "Mama, mama. I went on the bed of nails!" He whirled around, seeking out his brother. "Quick Dougie, show her."

The older brother hurried to pull out his phone and show the picture to the woman. "Good for you, T.J." she said, rubbing wide, congratulatory circles on his back. "Are you guys ready to move on?"

Both boys nodded. As they walked out, T.J. let go of his mother's hand and quickly ran back, wrapping his arms around Bruce's legs. "Thanks, mister," he said, looking up at Bruce in admiration.

"No problem kid," Banner said softly as he reached down to ruffle the child's hair. When he looked up, the woman was standing directly in front of him, gripping her son's shoulder.

"And you are?" the woman demanded.

Banner balked, unsure of how to answer that.

"He got T.J. to go on the bed of nails after explaining how it works," the older boy intervened, stepping between the woman and Bruce. "He's got a degree in physics!"

The woman relaxed slightly, though there was still a rough set to her outline. "Thank you," she said cautiously, taking a step backward and pulling T.J. with her.

"It was my pleasure. I'm glad to see so many kids interested in science," Bruce replied after only a second's hesitation.

The woman nodded, then grabbed T.J.'s hand and led quickly him out of the room.

Bucky and Bruce took a quick lap around the room as they were unable to try most of the exhibits for fear of breaking them. When they too were on their way out, a white-haired man walked in, stopping in the doorway to keep them from leaving. Bucky tensed instinctively but forced himself to relax when he saw the man's non-threatening stance. The older man was wearing a name tag, identifying him as an employee of the museum.

"You're really good with the kids," he stated, shooting Bruce a wide smile. He then pulled a pamphlet from his pocket and held it out to Bruce. "We're hiring."

"Thank you?" Bruce said, cautiously accepting the sheet of paper.

"I'd fill that out if I were you," the man said with a nod. "I think you belong here." He stepped off to the side to let them pass. "Dr. Banner," he added quietly.

Bruce whipped his head around. "You know who I am?"

The man shrugged. "You're very recognizable these days, for better or worse. Doesn't change what I said. Just means you're most qualified than most. When this all blows over—and it will—I hope you'll consider it."

Bruce continued to stare at him, the shocked expression slowly disappearing. "Thanks," he said honestly, taking a real look at the flyer for a part time position. On the back, there was a link to a webpage with more details about volunteering.

"I think I will."

* * *

Months later, Bruce was standing in the Physics Room in front of the bed of nails. He adjusted his badge, which read just "Bruce", no last name, but declared him to be a volunteer employee of the Science Center. Much to the great dismay of many people, he had been cleared a few days ago of the murder charges that had been raised against him after it'd leaked out that he hadn't been acting of his own free will. He was found guilty of the property damage charges but, given that he'd already been a huge force in rebuilding the South African town, he had been sentenced to 500 additional hours of community service while maintaining the outreach he'd already been doing.

It was as good a verdict as he could have ever hoped for, despite the angry protesters who had to held back by the police on his way out of the courtroom and he looked forward to proving yet again to people that he was more than just his mutation. The judge had provided him a list of places with the option to choose a third as long as she, the prosecutor and the defense agreed on it. Luckily, they had been more than willing to let him perform his service at the Science Center, knowing that's where he could do the greatest good. There were additional rules and stipulations put in place but Bruce happily accepted them without complaint.

"Are you ready for your first day?" Taylor, the elderly man who had first recruited him, asked from his station by the pulleys chairs on the other side of the room.

Bruce nodded. "I think so."

Taylor stopped adjusting the chairs to a child's height and smiled. "You'll do fine," he said, shooting Bruce one thumbs up.

Just then an announcement buzzed over the speaker system: "The Science Center is now opening."

Moments later, they heard the sounds of excited chattering before their room was flooded with children (and a fair number of people snapping pictures and videos). Bruce tried to ignore them, going out of his way to be more polite and courteous than ever, as he explained the science behind the bed of nails to each new group of children. Even though his spiel was repetitive, the excited looks on their faces as he explained it made it bearable.

Though people tried to bait him into answering questions about the trial or his verdict, Bruce politely deflected, having spent a great deal of time perfecting his answers with his lawyer and Tony's PR head.

"They will go away," Tony had promised this morning. "Just give them nothing to report about and they'll move on to the next story."

With that in mind, Bruce was determined to be as boring as possible.

In all the chaos of the exhibit, all the people, all the paparazzi, Bruce felt a strange sense of calm settle in. There was something about seeing young people explore his chosen field being supported and _encouraged_ by their parents that set his mind at east. Some of the kids didn't even know who he was, who the media was painting him to be—all they knew was that Bruce knew science and was willing to spend the time to teach it to them.

And that, Banner quickly realized, was what Bucky had given him, whether he'd intended to or not. The former assassin had given him _hope,_ and not just for the future of the earth in the hands of these young inquiring minds. Bucky had reminded Bruce that he was more than the Hulk, that he too could do good in the world and that there were still some people who believed that of him. And for that, he couldn't be more grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive the liberties we took with the court's decision. We tried to make it at least semi-realistic but have no frame of reference for what a court in the comic book universe actually might do.
> 
> Also, thank you for your wonderful reviews. We ventured that you all would prefer a new chapter instead of a review reply but we fully intend to respond to each and every one of them when we get a chance. Please know that we treasure every comment, favorite or follow.
> 
> We're also setting a goal of getting this finished by the Civil War release. That means we have four weeks left to churn out the last two chapters. We will do our best to make it happen!
> 
> Finally, thanks for sticking with us! We'd love to know what you thought of the new chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope 9,260 words makes up for the wait! We appreciate your continued support!

 

Bucky stared at the rows of headphones at his local BuyMore, abjectly confused about which pair he should pick. He had just begun taking his phone to the gym with him, no longer worried about breaking it with the modifications Tony had made, but quickly found that the headphones weren't of the same caliber. They twisted themselves too easily, became stripped, or just got caught on the most innocuous things and snapped. After breaking three sets of more expensive, Apple-brand ones, he'd decided to go cheap until he figured out just how to handle the buds.

He looked up and down the display, seeing the in-ear type with the moldable plastic on the end, the ones that hung over the back of his ear, actual earphones that were as expensive as last eight shirts he bought combined, all in a terrifying array of colors and brands. He scowled at most of the options as they blocked out external noise and would therefore make him vulnerable to stealth attacks. With considerable effort, he finally located the cheapest, most normal set of earbuds on the bottom shelf, where they were stuffed into the divider between the adjacent displays.

Perfect.

He grabbed three (just in case) and was walking to rendezvous with Steve at the tablets, when he heard mention of the Stark Industries Symposium. His curiosity piqued, he looked to his left at the wide bank of televisions and stopped when he saw the headline: _SI Symposium Finalist Not Allowed to Attend_.

He glanced around, quickly locating the attached remote and turning up the volume.

"...live from Little Rock, Arkansas," the well-dressed reporter was saying. She was standing in front of a high school, getting knocked about by students too interested in getting home to realize they were interrupting a newscast, "home to Evan Lawson, one of the one hundred finalists for the fourth annual Stark Industries Symposium. Lawson, a senior at only age sixteen, submitted an application detailing his work with modern prosthetics."

The reporter's image faded away as images and legacy footage of Lawson began to roll. It began with a quick history of his interest in science and contained very positive voice-overs from his teachers and classmates about how bright Lawson was.

When they were finished, the focus returned to the reporter. "I don't understand the exact details," she admitted with a laugh, "but according to his professors, Lawson's prototype seeks to be more affordable to the masses, while better interfacing with the brain waves to make it more useful to its owner."

Now, past footage of the Symposium was shown on screen while the reporter continued her narration. "Unfortunately, Lawson will not be attending the Symposium, even after he was selected as one of the one hundred students to present their work to a body of recruiters and the Who's Who of tech. Why you may ask? We have the same question. Unfortunately, both Lawson and his mother, Jenni, who has been surprisingly tight-lipped about the whole situation, declined to comment. Lawson only added that he is grateful for this honor. Marina Nelson, from out in the field."

"Something doesn't seem right," the female anchor said back in the studio, turning in her chair to face her co-host. "If he didn't want to attend, why did he submit the application in the first place?"

"I guess we'll never know," the thirty-something male responded. "We've seen what happens to the students who are chosen for the symposium. It's a huge opportunity for them to have their work recognized."

The woman nodded. "In case you've forgotten," she held up a sheet and read off six well-known names, "were all SI Symposium attendees. Look how they all turned out." All were in upper management or running their own companies at incredibly young ages.

"I'm sure the Lawson family has their reasons," the male host was quick to say. "It is curious though. Perhaps there's some history there..."

"Now Bob," the woman chastised her co-host, shooting him a sharp look.

"Conjecture I know," he said, raising his hands slightly to show he meant to harm. "Just trying to make the pieces fit." He took a breath then he turned to face the camera full-on. "This has been a developing news story from ZNN. Now, off to Wayne Nelson for sports."

At some point in the newscast, Steve had wandered over to where Bucky was standing. As the screen switched to last night's football game, Bucky turned to face his friend. "I thought it was going well," he said, thinking back to the last team meeting they'd had at the Tower. Tony and Pepper had just mailed out their acceptance letters and looked worn but pleased with their selections.

"Me too." Steve nodded his head in agreement.

"Should we call him? See how he's doing?" They both knew how much Tony cared about the Symposium and not just because his name was on it. They'd found out from Pepper that the Symposium was a personal project, one Tony'd lobbied the execs for himself in lieu of the continuation of the failed Expo. It was part of his desire to leave the world a better place, to try to atone for some of the mistakes he'd made in the past. With that in mind, they both couldn't imagine he was taking this news well.

"At home," Steve said, eyeing the crowd that had started to drift forward at the sight of Captain America. Bucky just rolled his eyes at the attention since he'd told Steve earlier (repeatedly!) that a baseball cap and sunglasses didn't constitute a proper disguise.

He did though allow himself to be drawn into the crowd where he and Steve greeted their fans and signed a few autographs before paying for the headphones and leaving. When they were safely back in their house, without any eavesdroppers (Bucky knew that because he swept the place twice a day), they dialled Stark.

"How's it going?" Steve asked casually when Tony picked up, the blaring AC/DC dying promptly in the background.

Tony sighed. "You heard, didn't you?"

Bucky and Steve looked over at each other and the former assassin just shrugged. "Yes," Steve decided. "We wanted to see how you were taking the news."

"'s fine," Tony said though his tense tone belied his words. "I mean, there are tens of other students who would gladly take his place. The Symposium isn't going to suffer because he isn't there."

"You don't sound convinced," Bucky piped up, ever the epitome of sensitivity.

"What do you want me to say Barnes? That I _like_ seeing them frown at what I wanted to do?"

"The news isn't exactly bad," Steve cut in, trying to salvage the rest of the conversation.

"It's not exactly good either, is it Rogers? What does it say about me, about SI, if this kid isn't allowed to come?"

Bucky opened his mouth to reply but Steve elbowed him sharply in the side. "It says they don't realize what a great opportunity this is. We're sorry Tony."

"The sad part is the kid had a really great idea. With a little more funding, some big brains to bounce ideas around with, he might actually achieve what we've been struggling to do up to this point."

"Do you know why he submitted the application then?" Bucky asked before Steve could stop him, then stuck his tongue out childishly at his friend.

They could almost hear Tony shrugging on the other side of the call. "From what we've gathered, the kid really _wants_ to come—he filled out the application at school with his biologist's teacher's signature. It's his mom that's against it." There was a split second pause before Tony continued, his voice as hard as steel, "and before you ask, no, I have never slept with her."

Steve and Bucky exchanged glances. It was obvious from his tone that someone else made that suggestion which implied that others were thinking of reasons why the mother, Jenni, would object to her son attending this event. Unfortunately, the longer this went on, the more crazy theories would be spread. No matter what Tony said, it would be up to the Lawson family to put an end to them.

"We weren't implying anything Tony," Steve was saying, drawing Bucky back into the present.

There was a brief silence. "Oh," Stark said, almost sheepishly. "Guess I'm a little defensive. It's been a long day."

"Is there anything we can do to help?"

"Nah, the PR monkeys are already on it. I've been informed to just stay out of it and let it blow over."

"Well if you think of anything, let us know."

"Sure," Tony replied, seconds before the fire alarm began blaring in the background. "Crap. Gotta go!"

As Steve ended the call, Bucky's mind began to race with possibilities. He wasn't a fan of the circumstances but this had the possibility of being something he would help Stark with, something that could even, if the situation was right, be turned into his gift to Stark.

It took him a minute to organize his thoughts into a cohesive string so he could broach the subject with Steve. He wanted his friend's opinion about his plan for two reasons: one, Steve had chewed out Bucky for almost an hour after finding out that Bucky had raided the Hydra bases without backup and Bucky was not ready for a repeat experience and two, talking with the Lawson family posed a new set of challenges. In all his other gifts, the affected parties had been the team, or family of the team so, if he screwed up achieving their gift, he knew he would be forgiven. This though would be entirely different. If he did the wrong thing while at the Lawson home and the media caught wind of it, it would reflect badly on Tony but also SI.

"I think we should talk to her," Barnes spoke up, quickly glancing over at Steve to see his reaction.

Rogers frowned—not a good start. "Bucky, I'm not sure that's a good idea..."

Bucky rearranged his face into an expression that matched Steve's. "Think about it. The woman doesn't want her son to attend so it's personal. And the kid knew that because he filled out the application without her approval. Like you said, this is a huge opportunity, so it must be Stark she has a problem with. If he or his PR team goes over there, they're going to get nothing. We go, ask some questions, we might get something."

"I just—"

"I don't want to change her mind, necessarily," Bucky continued, as if Steve hadn't interrupted. "I just want to understand where she's coming from. It doesn't seem fair to the kid right now, but she might have a perfectly good reason. I just want to know what it is. Besides, we all know Tony isn't going to rest until he does. I'm just expediting the process." He meant it when he said he wasn't going to change the woman's mind against her will. If she truly didn't want her son attending, Bucky wasn't going to stand in her way or try to talk her out of it, no matter what Tony's reaction might be. But if there was some sort of misunderstanding, or something about Tony's character, Bucky would do his best to correct it and just hope that was enough. After all, Tony had changed a lot over the last decade and it was possible the woman wasn't letting her son participate because of his past. That Bucky wanted to help with; the family's decision from that point would be their own.

Steve's eyebrows furrowed as he stared pensively at Barnes; Bucky stared right back undeterred. "C'mon Rogers," Bucky pleaded after a moment, rearranging his facial expression to match that of the wide-eyed, Robin Hood-esque cat that Clint always sent around when asking for a favor.

Steve rolled his eyes at the tactic but eventually shrugged. "I suppose it couldn't hurt."

Bucky grinned widely and sprang to his feet. As he took a large step toward the kitchen, he felt a tug on the hem of his shirt and looked down to see Steve gripping it tightly.

"Slow down Kojak," his friend admonished. "You should call first, see if she's actually interested in talking."

Bucky shook his head in agreement. "First thing tomorrow."

As he walked back to toward his room to drop off his new headphones, he considered that it was kinda nice having someone with whom to strategize on the gifts front. Then a realization struck and he paused, the bag halfway to the bed, to mentally review the missions for this operation: he'd needed Natasha's help with Clint's present, Pepper's help with Sam's, Tony's help with Bruce's. Almost without him knowing it, he'd gravitated away from Hydra's lone wolf mentality and into the trust of his new team.

_And Pierce said he wouldn't be able to survive in the real world_ , he recalled, a satisfied smile on his face. He dropped his headphones on the bed then pulled the notebook his therapist encouraged him to journal in from the nightstand drawer and wrote down the memory along with a list of things he'd done since then to prove the former Hydra leader wrong.

* * *

Barnes stared at the clock, watching the second hand meander its way around the face. He'd been told it was rude to call people before nine o'clock especially on weekends and didn't want to get the phone call started on the wrong foot.

When the second hand was vertical and clock had begun to chime nine, he snatched up his phone and jabbed at the call button, the number already predialled.

It rang once...twice...

"Hello?" a woman asked tentatively.

"Hi ma'am," Bucky replied. "My name is James." He'd spent a long time last night deciding if he wanted to share his more well-known name. Despite his most recent career change, the Soldier's name was still colored with more red than black and he didn't want that to scare Jenni off this early. "I was wondering if I could talk to you about your son Evan."

"You're from StarkIndustries aren't you?" she demanded, her voice seething with anger. "I've told you before you can stop calling. My son won't be attending your symposium and that's final!"

"Ma'am please," Bucky interjected before she could hang up. "I'm not calling to convince you to change your mind."

The woman was quiet for a second. "You're not?"

"No. I'd just like to talk to you about it, to hear your side."

"Are you a reporter?" she asked, her voice taking on a hard edge again.

"No. Just a friend...of Tony's," he added. Though he feared that would be the end of the conversation, he did want to be as honest with her as he could be. "But I promise I don't want to change your decision. I just want to understand."

There was a long silence. "No one has asked me that before," the woman said slowly. Bucky just remained quiet on his side of the line, waiting for her to make her final decision.

"Okay," she agreed after another long pause. "But not over the phone. I don't want you recording this. You'll come out to our place. Alone. Next Saturday. 9 AM."

Bucky nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I'll be there."

The woman hung up without another word.

* * *

The next Saturday at 8:58 exactly, Bucky pulled up in front of the Lawson's house in a beat-up old truck he'd rented with the fake identity Tony had crafted for him. The usual throng of paparazzi thankfully hadn't arrived yet save one lone reporter sitting in a plastic chair near the mailbox, tapping intently on her phone.

He paused for a moment to check his reflection in the rearview mirror. In an attempt to look warm and comforting, he'd shaved and, after trimming a few inches off his hair, had tied it into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He liked looking less like the Soldier and more like his old self but his hair grew so fast that keeping himself clean-shaven or his hair at a decent length was a trial. For his own sanity, he usually let his hair do what it wanted until an occasion arose where he needed to cut it and focused on letting his beard not get too out of control.

He also checked his arm to ensure the holoskin was firmly attached. He'd borrowed it from Tony (without asking since Tony would have wanted to know the reason for the secrecy), so he hoped he'd charged it correctly last night. He didn't like lying to the woman about his true identity, but he wanted have an honest conversation with Jenni Lawson without her fearing that he was a Stark goon there to coerce her into changing her mind.

After moving the arm a few times and seeing only unblemished skin, Barnes grabbed a package from the backseat, so as to not draw unnecessary attention to himself, and walked up the driveway, paying the reporter no mind. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her look up, look at his outfit, then return to her phone uninterested.

He rang the doorbell and had to wait only a few seconds before the door slid open a few inches, held in place by a still fastened chain lock. A blond-haired woman, Jenni, peered through the crack.

"James?" she demanded.

Bucky nodded.

The door closed and he heard her fiddle with the locks. Seconds later, it opened fully and she stepped out of the way. "Come in," she ordered, propping open the door with her foot.

He quickly stepped into the small but cozy home, waiting in the foyer while she locked the door with a practiced fluidity. After she turned the third deadbolt, she led him down a hallway into the kitchen and motioned for him to sit at the table.

"Do you want something to drink?" she asked politely though her entire body was radiating tension. She obviously wasn't convinced that talking with him was a good idea yet.

Bucky shook his head. "No, Mrs. Lawson, I'm fine."

"Are you recording this?"

"No."

"Lift up your shirt."

Bucky was caught off-guard by her odd request. "What?" was all he managed to get out.

"Shirt, up," she repeated, gesticulating with her hands. "I want to see if you're wearing a wire."

_That was fair._ Bucky slowly and carefully lifted his shirt no more than two inches above the waist of his jeans to prove the absence of a microphone.

Jenni nodded, satisfied, then reached over and grabbed a jar labelled _Sugar_. "Phone," she ordered, holding out the jar to him. Bucky again hesitated, knowing Tony wouldn't be happy with sugar in his two-of-a-kind reinforced supersoldier prototype.

Upon seeing his reluctance, Jenni's face softened slightly. "Don't worry, it's empty," she told him. "They're made out of good metal though so they'll block any listening devices."

Bucky lifted himself slightly out of the chair to see that the jar was indeed empty, then slipped his phone inside. "Mrs. Lawson, I promise you I'm not here to record you," he repeated as she grabbed a metal lid off the counter and slid it onto the sugar jar.

"You say that now," she said, pushing the jar back against the backsplash then dropping into the chair across from Bucky, "but I don't want to find this interview on Youtube later with my words completely rearranged."

"Mrs. Lawson, I—"

"I know, I know, you're a good person. You would never do that," she replied with a slight sneer. As soon as the words left her lips, her eyes widened slightly, as if she hadn't actually meant to vocalize that thought. Bucky just sat there, uncomfortably, as she wrung her hands together for a moment. "I'm sorry," she finally said, looking genuinely apologetic. "That was out of line."

Bucky just nodded. "It's okay Mrs. Lawson. I'm sure this is bringing back old, unpleasant memories." He said this, in an attempt to further win her over, all the while hoping said memories weren't too unpleasant to the point where they couldn't be fixed.

The woman nodded, then visibly deflated into the chair, all the hostility she had originally shown him gone. "How much do you know about what happened to our family?" she asked in almost a resigned tone.

Bucky had suspected from the moment he'd walked in that Jenni wasn't the harsh person she had tried to convince him she was. Seeing her shed that mask so quickly was promising; hopefully she did indeed trust him enough to tell him the entire story. "Only what I've heard on the news."

Jenni looked surprised. "You didn't do any more research?"

"Mrs. Lawson, I told you I'm not a reporter. I wanted to hear your side of the story without any media stories to skew it."

Jenni stared at him for a long moment, then reached over and pulled a photograph from the front of the refrigerator. "My husband, Richard," she began, sliding the photo over to Bucky. It was a family picture taken at the top of a waterfall. All three of them were bundled up, faces barely visible, but their smiles were impossible to hide. "He worked in the next city over for a company who built custom parts for SI, weapons mostly. It was one of the few jobs he could find after the factory here closed down. It was a decent job, paid the bills, kept food on the table. Then in April of '07, one of the machines next to him exploded." She paused, her face lighting up with a series of emotions, and had to take a deep breath before she could continue. "He survived but the shrapnel hit right above his knee. They tried to save his leg but the damage was too great."

"I'm so sorry," Bucky said softly, feeling the thick scar on his shoulder began to burn.

"Thank you." She fiddled for her hands with a moment, as if trying to decide what part of the story to tell next. "Since Nelson's was owned by StarkIndustries, they were the ones responsible for Richard's workman's comp. It were decent in covering the cost of the surgery and rehab but then the funds just stopped once he was released. It was like they assumed he was back to normal, like things could go back to the way they were." She shook her head mournfully. "They were never the same. With Richard not working, we struggled to keep our house, had to sell our car. Evan had to pick up a part-time job that paid him under the table because he wasn't technically old enough to work.

"When he wasn't working or at school though, he was thinking about ways to make that prosthetic better. Richard always complained about how much it hurt or didn't fit quite right, or didn't do what he wanted. Evan was there the whole time, paper in hand, scribbling down ideas." She shrugged. "Given all that, I supposed I'm not really surprised Evan applied for the Symposium.

"Are you a father James?" she asked after a brief pause.

This time, Bucky was unfazed by her non sequitur. "No," he responded quickly.

"Well if you ever become one, you'll know what it feels like to want to give your child the world. All I want is for Evan to be happy, to be successful, to have as many opportunities as he can to interact with his future employers or colleagues, but I can't do it for an event run by Stark, not after the way his company treated us after Richard was released from rehab."

She began tracing a pattern in the wood table with her finger absently, taking her eyes off Barnes for the first time since he walked in. "We didn't want a lot, just enough to keep him in PT and to keep our family afloat. They weren't able to offer us even that much." Then her gaze snapped up and her eyes locked onto Bucky's. "I know what good this symposium can do, but it's not going to excuse the time we suffered. Mr. Stark has all this time to go Avenging or building Ultron but he doesn't spend that time taking care of his employees, making sure they are cared for after they are hurt on the job."

Bucky nodded sympathetically. It was a tough hand she had been dealt no matter who her husband had been working for. He wasn't sure what Tony could do about it now but he was positive this discrepancy was something Stark would like to know about, for no other reason than to keep it from happening again.

There was one piece of this story that didn't quite fit though. "I have to ask though, if it's alright..."

Her gaze instantly took on a suspicious tint but she nodded all the same.

"This seems like it would be the perfect opportunity for you to tell your story, to get the recognition you and your family deserve. Why are you staying silent?"

Jenni pursed her lips, clenching her hands together so tightly her knuckles turned white. "Right when it happened, I was determined to get what Richard deserved from that company. I wrote letters, emails, to SI, to the insurance company, to the news. I found a group on the internet of other people who'd been through the same thing and we did everything we could think of to shed a light on this—I even flew out to Manhattan a few times to try to get an audience with _someone_ —but for all our efforts, we got nothing back. Then one day I looked down at my son and he was two inches taller, had lost a tooth, and wasn't completely mortified by girls anymore. That's when I knew I had to stop. I was missing too much of Evan's life in this crusade I didn't have a chance of winning."

She looked back down at the table, shaking her head sadly. "I can't do that to my son again. He's applying for college this year; he needs his family now more than ever."

As if on cue, Bucky saw a young man, Evan, step out of one of the other adjoining rooms from the hallway. When the teen saw who was in the kitchen, his eyes widened slightly and he hurried back into the room he'd come from. Bucky hadn't gotten a good enough look to determine whether Evan had been surprised or frightened but either way he knew he didn't have long.

"I'm sorry to put you through all this again," he said as he stood up and retrieved his phone from the sugar jar. "I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me."

Jenni smiled thinly. "It feels good to tell someone the whole story," she replied before following him through the hallway and to the front door. "Thank you for listening," she added as Bucky stepped out of the house.

He turned around to reply but Jenni had closed the door and redone the triple locks with a surprising speed. His words dying in his throat, he turned around and walked back toward his truck, once again, completely avoiding the attention of the young reporter.

* * *

As soon as he was back in the hotel, Bucky called Steve to fill him in on the situation.

"So what are you going to do?" his friend asked after a moment to let the details digest.

Before Barnes could answer, there was a soft knock on his hotel door. "Call you back," he whispered into his phone before ending the call. Given that he wasn't expecting anyone, he threw his phone on the bed and grabbed the SSP he'd been cleaning—it never hurts to be prepared!—from the dresser. After quietly chambering a bullet, he held the gun adjacent to his thigh, pointed safely at the ground.

"Who's there?" he called out, ignoring the small clench of stomach. It didn't have to be Hydra coming for him: it could be maintenance, housekeeping or a number of innocent people.

"Ummm, Evan Lawson," a male voice replied, more as a question than a comment.

Bucky's only outward reaction was to blink as he peered through the small tear in the thick curtain covering the front-facing window and saw the boy in front of his door, alone and unarmed. He slid the gun onto the entryway table and opened the door.

The boy's eyes immediately widened and his jaw dropped open slightly. Before Bucky had a second chance to determine whether it was in terror, Evan let out a soft, "Wow!" followed by an equally shocked, "you're really him!"

"I'm really who?" Bucky clarified, sincerely hoping the teen had him mixed up with someone else.

"You're Bucky Barnes!" Evan declared, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Get in here," the former assassin hissed, grabbing the front of Evan's shirt and pulling him into the room. Bucky then cautiously poked his head out of the doorway and scanned the area fervently for anyone who could have overheard. Upon finding no one, he slammed and locked the door behind him before spinning around to glare at Evan.

"You can't just say stuff like that in public!" he reprimanded the kid, who was still staring at him in amazement.

"I did a paper on you in sixth grade," Evan continued, his voice barely above an awed whisper.

The open show of adoration was making Bucky extremely uncomfortable so he walked over to the small desk and pulled out the chair, motioning for Evan to sit. After the kid had shuffled over, he himself perched on the edge of the bed. "Can I help you with something?" he asked gruffly, hoping to snap the kid out of his trance.

Evan nodded soberly and sat down, licking his lips nervously. "I heard you talking to my mom this morning." When he didn't immediately continue, Bucky stared at the ceiling, quickly asking for patience, before making a "go on" motion with his right hand.

"There's more to the story," Evan said after a long pause. "My dad...he wasn't the same after the accident. He was...cold, I guess you'd say, distant. He didn't want to be as involved with us as he used to. That was really hard on my mom, seeing him change. We tried to get him into therapy but we could barely afford it with his PT and other doctor's bills. My mom had to cut down her own hours at work to take care of him." He fell quiet again. "It was a long five years."

"What happened after five years?" Bucky questioned, though he suspected he already knew. As much as the family had been in the news, he hadn't seen any signs of the father, nor had there been any indication in the house that a physically handicapped person lived there.

"A brain aneurysm. He was in his room watching television and was just gone." Evan stared intently at the swirls in the hotel's carpet. "I 'spose that's the way to go though," he continued, his voice thick with emotion, "no pain, just peaceful."

The kid looked so forlorn Bucky found himself wondering whether it was alright to make contact. After a quick mental debate, he carefully reached out and rested his hand on the kid's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Evan just nodded, as if those words didn't register anymore. "My dad hated his leg, always complained that it didn't do what he wanted, that it didn't fit quite right. He never felt like it was part of him. And little seven-year-old me thought I could do something about it." Evan shook his head, talking almost faster than Bucky's brain could process his words. "That's why I applied to the Symposium even though I knew how my mom would react—I thought if I was accepted I would be able to convince her to let me go. I know there's a better option for prosthetics out there. Mine might not be it but the more attention we can bring to it in front of all those great minds, the sooner we can get a viable solution." He paused for a moment, drawing in a gasping breath. "I just want to see what there could be."

The teen's eyes were again drawn to Bucky's arm, even though it was still wrapped in the holoskin. "I've seen how you move your arm, how effortless it is. It really is a part of you. I wish he could have had one like that."

Bucky was more than sure Richard Lawson would have preferred his own prosthetic over everything Bucky had gone through to get the one he had now, but he didn't speak up, knowing that wasn't Evan had meant.

They sat in silence for another moment before the teen stood up. "I guess I don't really know why I came. I just thought you should know. It's really hard for my mom to talk about, especially to people she doesn't know that well."

He walked over to the door and paused, his hand on the knob. "Even though we don't agree about this, I love and respect my mom, so I'm not going to go to the Symposium," he finished sadly. "I'd really appreciate it if you kept your word and didn't try to convince her otherwise."

"I won't," Bucky promised, though the words tasted like ash in his mouth. It would be a shame for this kid to not get the recognition his idea deserved, especially since he seemed a great candidate for the program. But Barnes also understood the mother's point of view, trying to avoid the people who had wronged them in order to heal.

Evan nodded, then let himself out. After watching him get on his bike and pedal away, Bucky called Steve again.

"What happened?" Rogers demanded, picking up on the first ring.

"The kid was here," Bucky explained, then went on to update his friend with what Evan had said.

"That fills in a few gaps," Steve said thoughtfully. "What are you thinking?"

"That Stark needs to come out here," Bucky answered almost instantly. He'd been contemplating about it ever since he'd sat down with Jenni but his meeting with Evan had only confirmed that it was the only way to end this conflict.

"You know that's not going to be easy for him."

Bucky nodded, even though Steve couldn't see him. "I do. But I think that's the only way either of them get some kind of closure."

Steve made a humming sound and Bucky knew his mind was racing to think of other options. "You might be right," Rogers stated after a moment.

"You don't have to sound so surprised," Barnes retorted with a deep scowl.

"I'm not, Buck," Steve was quick to say. "I'm agreeing with you. I just don't see how you're going to get them in the same room together."

"Simple," Bucky grinned. "I'm gonna ask."

* * *

Eight days later, Tony Stark was standing outside the Lawson home. Reporters thronged around them snapping pictures but were quickly pushed back by Happy Hogan who had been more than willing to resume his mantle as Head of Security.

He looked over at Pepper, who just reached down and intertwined their fingers, knowing better than to offer platitudes about how this was all going to work out.

" _Let her get to know the real Tony,"_ she had told him earlier. " _Show her how you've changed, how the company is changed and let the rest fall into place."_

He had originally been very reluctant when Bucky had approached him with this idea, but after Barnes had explained what Jenni really wanted, to be heard, to have a voice, he found he really had no other option than to agree. Besides, if what she said was indeed true—which it was, he found out after an hour of research—she deserved much more than that.

Then came the wait while Barnes convinced Jenni to talk to him and Pepper. It couldn't have been easy, given how much hate Tony was sure she was harboring, but somehow Barnes managed to convince her that this was a good idea. On some level, she was trusting him to do the right thing and he was determined to honor that decision.

Tony took a deep breath then tapped on the door, surprised by the speed at which it swung open. Jenni must have been standing on the other side, waiting.

Her face did not express any emotion as she quickly stepped aside to let them in. Without speaking, she locked the door behind them then led them down a hallway and off to the left, into a small but well-lit living room. Two recliners faced a couch, a coffee table between them and the TV hanging at the far end of the room. The oak table was set with a tray of tea and what looked like Keebler M&M cookies.

"Please sit," she said curtly, her voice trembling a bit at the end with either fear or anger. Tony had a hunch it was the latter and that he was going to get quite the earful about how the company had failed its employees when they needed it the most. But he also remembered what it had felt like to want someone to just listen to him, without judging or without an ulterior motive. It wasn't going to be easy but he was determined to do it; he owned Jenni and her family at least that much.

"Thank you," Pepper said, pulling Tony down onto the couch next to her. "You have a lovely home," she added with a genuine smile. It seemed kinda silly for him to notice it right now, in that moment, because everything Pepper did in life was genuine, from her work, to her outreach, to knowing her direct employees by name and a few things she could discuss with them. It just showed how distracted he was and how much he wanted this to be over with already.

Jenni returned the expression uneasily. "Thank you," she said as she perched on the edge of one of the chairs, looking ready to leave at any moment.

They sat in a tense silence before Jenni leaned forward and asked, "Tea?" They both politely accepted the beverage and a cookie which was as good as Tony was hoping, even though it settled in a cold lump in his stomach.

Finally, Jenni spoke up. "So now what?"

Tony put down his teacup and gave her his full attention. "We're here to listen," he stated. "The rest is up to you."

Jenni's chin quavered slightly, in sharp contrast to the angry expression on her face. "That's all I wanted from you ten years ago. For someone to realize my family was more than a number on an insurance sheet," she spat out, color springing to her cheeks.

"I can't imagine how difficult that must have been for you," Tony replied, his chest tightening at her outburst of emotion. "And there's no way we can make up for it now, nothing that can undo what's been done. But what we can do is listen to everything you wanted to say to us ten years years ago."

He broke off, then rolled his shoulders back slightly, lifted his chin and braced himself for the onslaught.

Jenni nodded, took a deep breath then told them a much more detailed story of the version she had told Bucky: how her husband had been injured, how long he'd been in the hospital, his transfer to rehab, how SI was there to help pay for some of it but how the funds stopped as soon as he had been released even though he wasn't able to go back to work. She talked and talked about what she had tried to get their attention about back in the day, how Evan had had to get a part-time job to help them make ends meet, how her husband's injury got Evan interested in science and prosthetics, about how her husband pulled away from them. She didn't pull any metaphorical punches, laying out just how difficult it had been the first few years, despite the greyish tint to Tony's face, but she also took care to focus and thank them for the good SI had done for the first part of it.

By the end, she was in tears, her anger having long given away into sadness and some part relief. She'd started off at an angry clip, the words not able to spill from her mouth fast enough, but had slowed down as she realized Tony and Pepper weren't going to leave.

When she had finished, the room fell into silence. Even though Tony had been preparing for this exact case, it was still hard to hear how his company had fallen short. His heart was thumping in his chest and it was taking every ounce of focus to keep his expression neutral.

Ever since he'd first donned the Iron Man armor, he'd been determined to leave the world a better place. He'd shut down the weapons manufacturing division and moved all the designers to green energy solutions. He invested more time in his company to make it a place people actually wanted to work, a place where they'd feel safe regardless of preferences or identity. He'd tried to protect the world with Ultron.

Yet, despite his intentions, something always seemed to go wrong, some wrench was thrown into his plans, and that's all the world seemed to focus on. SIs successes were numerous but not nearly as well-publicized as their failures. People always blamed Iron Man for not doing enough, for not saving everyone (it wasn't like he enjoyed making those tough decisions, did anyone in the news room ever consider that?). All his good, decent, helpful inventions were thrown by the wayside to make room for the massive failure that was Ultron. Though he'd never admit this out loud, to anyone, all he wanted was for this version of him to be taken seriously, for people to stop dragging him back to his past at every wrong turn. He'd made mistakes sure, some as unforgivable as they come, but that didn't mean everyone had to forget the good he was trying to do to make up for them.

He felt Pepper elbow him lightly in the side and snapped out of his reminiscence to see both women staring at him. "I know you don't want to hear excuses," he began, breaking the second cookie he'd been given into fractals, "but in 2007, I was a mess. My name was on the door but I wasn't in charge. My..." the words caught in his throat but he forced himself to keep going, "...business partner took care of all that. And I loved it. It let me be who I wanted to be, a guy without a care in the world. That all changed when he betrayed my trust."

Jenni looked like she wanted to interject but Tony waved her off, wanting to get through the whole speech before he changed his mind. "It was then I realized all the bad choices we'd been making, both personally and as a company and I set out to change that. I thought we were doing okay but I never stopped to consider the people who weren't there any longer to see these changes."

He took an envelope out of his pocket and put it down on the table. "Pepper and I talked a long time about this and we want to you have this."

Jenni shook her head, her eyes hardening. "I'm not going to accept a bribe from you, Mr. Stark."

"It's not a bribe. I honestly don't care if Evan comes to the Symposium—well, we do. He's a bright child with a great idea—" he jerked to a stop as Pepper elbowed him again, this time more forcefully. "What I mean to say is," he continued with more control, "is that we only want him there with your permission. This," he motioned to the envelope, "is what we should have given you back in '07. This is what current employees get when they get injured on the job. We understand that it's too little, too late, but we're hoping it can go toward paying off whatever debts you have left over."

Surprise flashed over Jenni's face but she still looked hesitant to accept the envelope. "You're not the only one," Tony continued. "Effective immediately, SI is going back over old claims and making sure the workman's comp was appropriate."

That last statement was apparently too much for Jenni's emotional dam to keep back. Tears of joy began to flow down her face and she viciously swiped her hands under her eyes to keep her composure. "Thank you, Mr. Stark," she managed, once she could speak again. "For all of it."

Tony just nodded. "It was the least we could do," he said as he and Pepper stood up, both a little emotionally drained from this past hour. "It sounds inadequate but I really am sorry, Mrs. Lawson. If I could do it all over again, I'd be a much better CEO from the start. Unfortunately, I learned the hard way what not to do and I'm determined to not make those mistakes again."

Jenni just nodded, still visibly shocked by how today's events had played out.

Tony offered her a sad smile as he and Pepper let themselves out, walking directly into the throngs of paparazzi who were practically knocking each other over in an attempt to get an exclusive story.

* * *

The Symposium was scheduled for Saturday November 12th. Even though they'd hired people to plan the entire event, Tony and Pepper had still spent most of the last week designing the space, scheduling the presentations, managing the menu and security, as well as double- and triple-checking every last detail. Knowing how important this event was to Tony, the rest of the Avengers had helped out as much as they could. Steve and Bucky were sent off to do the heavy lifting and the massive rearranging of tables after Pepper nixed the first design; Sam was assigned to delivery verification after they'd discovered his surprise talent for flower arrangements; Wanda was genuinely enjoying arranging the place settings and ensuring each one was perfectly to specifications; and the one weekend Natasha and Clint were in town, they volunteered to scope out the caterers. Though Pepper had been originally worried, it turned out they had made a fairly decent selection.

After the staff had finished their final touches, they drifted out, leaving only the Avengers and the wait staff. This was the part of the event that Tony always enjoyed most, the stillness in the ballroom right before the chaos, a sign of the excitement to come.

Slowly the big door creaked open and a shorter teenaged girl poked her head in. "Is it time, or do we have to wait out here?" she asked, completely unfazed by the status of the people in the ballroom.

"You can come in and get set up," Pepper said with a laugh, whisking over to the wide double doors, clipboard in hand.

As the finalists streamed in, Tony dutifully made his rounds, directing people to their booths, greeting the students and their families, and spending time with each of the recruiters that had been sent to engage some future employees.

His stomach twinged as he walked by the empty booth belonging to Evan Lawson. Since they hadn't heard definitively from the family in the RSVP, he and Pepper had done them the courtesy of not reassigning the invitation on the off-chance that they'd wanted to attend. In fact, no one hadn't heard much from the Lawsons at all over the last few weeks. After their visit, Jenni had made a prepared statement to the media saying the discussion between them and SI had gone very well, that she had a lot to think about and that they should stop hypothesizing vicious things about the reason her son had declined. It was as good as Tony and Pepper could have hoped for and, without the presence of new details, the story finally died out of headline news.

The first business day after they'd gotten back, the co-CEOs had reassigned a team of their best lawyers to ensure that their cases during the Obie era had been handled properly. There were some scorned families that had refused the new settlements but most were happy to see their plight finally acknowledged. A few had even sent personal letters or pictures as thanks, not caring at all that this seemed too little, too late.

"Mr. Stark," a woman said, jarring him out of his reverie. Tony looked up to see none other than Mrs. Lawson standing next to him. She was wearing a very nice skirt suit and had a large tri-folded poster in hand. "I have a lot I want to say to you so please don't interrupt. I can't tell you how much I appreciate you coming out to visit and keeping your word. I didn't at one time feel like you were pressuring me into making Evan attend for your own reputation. You seemed to be out there because it was the right thing to do.

"I thought long and hard about this and decided we're here to support the man you are now. I may have misjudged you in the past, Mr. Stark, and I'm sorry for it. I've seen what you've done with your company, what you're doing with the Avengers, you never deserved what I thought about you during those years."

She smiled wryly. "I'm not exactly jumping into your camp, you hear—I think you've got a lot of work yet to do—but I am glad to be wrong about this."

She shifted the poster under her left arm and held out her right hand. Tony stared at it for a moment then shook it.

"I also really, really didn't want to take your money," she shrugged, "but we did need it. I used some of it to pay for the trip here but the rest of it went straight into Evan's college fund, so he can go wherever he desires."

Tony smiled warmly. "I'm glad."

Jenni returned the expression and Tony felt for the first time since hearing Evan had denied his invitation that this Symposium might actually work out according to plan.

"Mrs. Lawson, we're thrilled you could make it," Pepper said from directly over Tony's right shoulder, surprising the two of them.

Jenni nodded. "As are we. Now, where do we put all his stuff?"

"Follow me," Pepper said, easily cutting a path through the frantic parents and attendees.

Tony watched them walk across the room until he caught a glimpse of Evan, who was talking to none other than Bucky. Lawson must have heard his mom calling his name for he held out his hand to the former assassin who, after a moment's pause, enthusiastically took it, a genuine smile on his face. The teen shook longer than necessary, obviously still enamored by the idea of meeting his childhood hero, but then hurried away to help his mother set up his visual aids.

Tony smiled to himself and was about to make another round when he saw Steve walking toward him, dressed in a very dapper suit. "They came," Rogers commented, tilting his head toward the Lawsons who were struggling to prop up the poster on Evan's table.

"I have Bucky to thank for that."

Steve shot Tony a curious look. "You know that's not why he did it."

Tony nodded. For all his inability to understand people and their motivations, for some reason this one was crystal clear. "I guess I owe him one."

Steve shook his head. "We both know that's not true." Rogers hesitated then said, " _but_ , if you really wanted to make his day, make sure SI hires the kid with the prototype for the solar-powered flying car." He thumbed over his shoulder at the appropriate booth, where a redheaded boy with freckles was demonstrating a scale model.

Tony just nodded, having already had his eye on the kid from the moment he'd seen his application. He'd developed a few prototypes for flying cars himself, but none that had sustained flight without an arc reactor or a massive amount of emissions, the same problems his father had suffered when he'd looked to mass produce. If that kid was interested in R&D, he'd definitely have a home at SI.

"In the words of one Clinton Francis Barton," Stark began, tucking his left hand behind his back and making a flourish with his right, "it would be my genuine pleasure."

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive us if we took a few too many liberties with SI's workman's comp. We figured Obadiah would have done just enough to not draw unwanted attention to SI, but not pay any real attention to what the people actually needed.
> 
> Also, we have Steve's chapter all sketched out so it will definitely be up (with an epilogue by request) before we see the Civil War next Friday.
> 
> Thanks for reading! We'd love to know what you thought!


	6. Chapter 6

With Tony's present finished, that left just Steve.

Bucky's eyebrows furrowed as he glanced down at the completely empty sheet. Steve's name was at the top, in a box, which he had given a 3D outline to and shaded the day after Steve had tried to teach him how to draw. It looked awful, but not nearly as bad as it felt to have no idea what to get his best friend.

He stared hard at the sheet, his entire face scrunching up with concentration, hoping he could _will_ an idea to appear. After his forehead began to hurt, he relaxed his features and slammed the folder closed.

Maybe he was going about this all wrong. His last two presents, he had just tried to do something right for the gift's recipient and, in doing that, he'd discovered the perfect thing to do. So maybe prolonged exposure to Steve would somehow reveal an idea.

Bucky huffed out a long-suffering exhale and picked himself off the floor. He slid the folder under his mattress then walked into the front room where Steve was watching a World Series replay, blissfully oblivious to the raging snowstorm outside.

He looked so peaceful that Barnes stopped in his tracks—perhaps he could wait a few hours to subtly grill Steve about his present.

That decided, Bucky curled up in the loveseat, pulled a throw over himself, and settled in to watch the game as well.

* * *

Bucky and Natasha were sitting in the common room at the New Base four days later, eating popcorn and watching this year's latest space movie when Steve walked in. Bucky immediately knew something was wrong by the way Steve was breathing—uneven inhales that hitched slightly at the end, not at all like his usual breaths.

Before the former Soldier could move, Steve smiled warmly at him, then turned his focus to Natasha. "Nat?" he asked, a pained but pleading expression on his face.

Bucky's gaze immediately shot to Natasha who nodded. She handed Bucky her bowl of popcorn then wiped her hand off on her leggings.

"What's going on?" Bucky asked, seconds before Steve dropped to the floor, his limbs akimbo.

Barnes was on his feet in an instant, popcorn flying everywhere and his heart racing about a thousand miles an hour.

"S'okay, Buck," Steve mumbled into the carpet as Natasha knelt beside him, her knees pressing into his left lowest ribs. "My back just doesn't..." he grimaced as he exhaled, "...agree with the chairs in the new meeting room."

While he was saying this, Natasha was running her hands up and down his back as if performing a test of some sort. Then, she splayed her hands out over his lower ribs, the heels of her palms parallel to his spine. "Breathe in," she ordered. Steve followed her command and, as he exhaled, she drove her weight forward into her palms.

Barnes winced as he heard no less than eight ribs pop.

Steve practically melted into the carpet with relief but apparently Natasha wasn't done. She shimmied her hands higher up Steve's back and instructed him to breathe in again. This pattern continued until Natasha's hands were practically at the base of his neck.

While Steve was apparently unfazed by this, Barnes was struck by what an incredibly vulnerable position his friend was in. With one twist, Natasha would break his neck, paralyzing or even killing him. With one wrong push over his spine instead of around it, she could permanently incapacitate him. This was an incredible show of trust between the two of them, one Bucky wasn't quite sure he was ready for, even after all this time.

He watched as she pressed down one last time, earning two rib pops, then sat back on her heels. "How does that feel?" she asked.

"You're a miracle worker," Steve groaned, the lines of pain around his eyes gone. While Natasha stood up and wandered back to the couch, Rogers remained face-down on the carpet.

"Maybe you should—" Bucky began but was cut off by Steve flipping his head around without moving his shoulders and pointing at his friend.

"You're not buying new chairs for the conference room because I don't like them," Rogers stated.

Bucky made a face, trying to pretend that hadn't been what he was thinking. "That wasn't what I was going to say," he lied, waiting just a second too long to be believable.

"Buck, I don't need anything—Really."

Bucky stared hard at Steve, his mind racing to adjust to the turn this conversation had taken. He knew that keeping his gifts a secret was going to be tough but sometimes Steve was too oblivious for his own good. Barnes had been hoping this was one of those times. "Don't need anything for what?" he asked, the question sounding lame to his own ears.

Steve lifted himself into a plank, then walked his knees under him and knelt back on his haunches. Natasha watched keenly from her perch on the couch.

"I know about the list," Steve said slowly, "and, though I really appreciate it, I really don't need anything. You're back, the team is in one piece again, we have a new place to train, I'm set."

Bucky hated the way Steve looked so convinced that that was all he needed. Unable to think of what to say, he just stared at Rogers, trying to get his thoughts in order.

"I think you've broke him," Natasha commented after a moment.

"How do you not want a gift?" Bucky finally managed, his expression morphing into one of confusion.

Steve looked taken aback. "Well, because I don't need anything. And I don't want you to go out of your way to come up with something. I know how busy you are…"

Bucky kept staring at Steve in disbelief. "That's no excuse."

"I think you might just have to let him do it, Steve," Natasha said, picking up a magazine from the table and beginning to flip through it.

Rogers looked over at Barnes and must have seen Bucky's determined expression, for he let out a long sigh. "There's no way I can convince you to not do anything for me, is there?"

Bucky shook his head. For all Steve had done for him, he was getting a present, hopefully one that was as good as the others. He had no doubt Steve would love it anyway, as his friend was pretty much the walking epitome of "It's the thought that counts".

Steve shrugged resignedly. "Okay then. Just—"

"If you tell me to not put too much time into it, I will get Tony involved."

Steve dipped his head in acknowledgement. "—have fun, then, I guess," he finished, wincing as the words left his mouth.

Barnes smiled evilly, more to worry Steve than anything else. "Oh, I will."

* * *

Steve knew better than to mention it when a lumbar support appeared in his locker before the next meeting. He did however, make sure to recommend the brand to the rest of the meeting attendees when they walked out holding their aching backs, and to thank Barnes for the gift, even though Bucky pretended to not know what Steve was talking about.

* * *

_From the icy wind stinging against his face, he knew he should be cold_ — _freezing actually_ — _but for some strange reason he was pleasantly warm_ _._

_Bucky looked around him and saw the snow falling softly, landing on already heaping piles of the stuff. He glanced down at himself and saw he was firmly bundled up in a thick jacket, mittens attached to the cuffs by a thin string._

" _C'mon Barnes!" someone shouted. He spun around to see a gaggle of boys shoving show into a ball._

" _Hurry or we're gonna hafta go home!" a second one cried, as he valiantly tried to mold the uncooperative fluff into a sphere._

_Bucky turned to go with them, excited, but something was holding him back...something about this situation felt wrong._

_For some unknown reason, he glanced up and saw a small boy standing in a third-story window, staring down at the scene. When he caught Bucky's attention, he waved, then doubled over in a fit of coughs._

_Protective instincts kicked in and Bucky headed for the apartment complex but the kid straightened up and glared at Barnes, the look deadly even from that distance. The sick kid jabbed his finger into the window, pointing at the boys who had finally managed to get the bottom third of the snowman in shape._

_Bucky looked back quickly enough to see the look of longing on the younger boy's face._

_Barnes turned to look over at the boys, watching their youthful mirth, then walked back into the apartment complex, saying hello to an elderly man checking his mail as he did so. His feet carried him to the third floor where the scrawny kid met him at the door, wearing almost every article of clothing he owned._

" _Whaddya doin' Buck? You're supposed to be playing with our friends," Steve scowled, dragging his arm underneath his runny nose._

_Bucky just shrugged and began to peel off his layers. "It's too cold out there anyway."_

_A look passed over the kid's face before he nodded, then lead Bucky into the kitchen where the oven door was propped open._

" _You'd better get warm then," he said, shoving Bucky into the spot right in front of the door._

_Barnes wanted to argue, but somehow knew it was a lost cause. He sat right where Steve wanted but looped his arm around his friend's shoulder and pulled him close._

_They sat like that, telling each other scary stories, until a blond woman, Sarah, Steve's mother, got home from her shift._

Bucky drifted lightly into consciousness, a welcome change from his usual jerk awakes, the warmth of that night still fresh in his mind. He glanced over at the clock on his nightstand and saw that it was 2:11 AM. Usually he was frustrated beyond belief at not being able to sleep through the night but this time, he found he didn't mind it as much.

He saw something flit behind the curtain and, after instinctively snagging his weapon, realized it was just snowflakes falling past his window.

_Huh._ He must have known snow was in the forecast. That's the only reason to explain his weird dream.

He laid back in bed, his arms crossed behind his head, and let himself sink back into the snow dream. He'd been an idiot back then, didn't truly appreciate what he had. What he wouldn't give to have another day like that, where his greatest fear was his next spelling test in Mrs—what was her name?...Jamison, yeah, that was it!—in Mrs. Jamison's class. Except the festivities would be more fun with a healthy Steve of course…

_Wait!_

His sleepy brain finally woke up enough for him to realize that was a possibility now, in the future where his friend was in peak condition: his lungs could handle the cold air, his bones the hard impact of the snow.

It took him another second to realize that this could be his present to Steve. His friend had been so sick as a kid that he had missed out on a lot of things other children had taken for granted. What Bucky could do was take Steve through a trip down memory lane, with Steve providing the memories of things he hadn't gotten to do, of course. As much progress as Bucky had made, he still didn't have all of his memories back, nor was anyone certain he ever would.

He considered this idea then shrugged to himself: he'd started other missions with much less of a plan.

He quickly pulled out his notebook and jotted down the dream before returning to his bed and pulling the covers up to his chin, his plan of action fresh in his mind: tomorrow, he and Steve would go outside and build a frickin' snowman.

* * *

He waited until lunch time when it would be the warmest before returning to his room and dressing in his full winter gear. He marched back out into common room of the new base and planted himself in front of Steve who was reading a book by one of the heating vents.

"What are you doing?" Rogers asked as he caught sight of Bucky's gear.

"What are _we_ doing," Barnes corrected. "It's time for your present Rogers," he announced, foregoing the secrecy. "Get your warm stuff on."

But Steve just stood there, as if waiting for the punch line. Finally, Bucky could stand it no longer—they were wasting valuable time prolonging the inevitable—and made a shoo-ing motion with his hands.

"You're serious?" Steve realized. "Bucky, you hate the snow."

"I'm aware," he almost spat out. Then his expression softened, knowing Steve wouldn't be able to resist. "Would you just get your stuff on before I change my mind?"

Steve put down his book and nodded. "Alright." He said, grabbing the leather jacket that was slung over the back of the couch and shrugging it on.

"That's it?" Barnes couldn't help but question, his voice slightly higher than it should have been.

"The rest of my stuff is by the door." Steve shot him a strange look. "You sure you're up for this?"

Bucky nodded, forcing a smile onto his face. He had no misgivings about how difficult this was going to be but he was genuinely hoping that doing something positive for Rogers would somehow nullify the effects of the weather. Besides, it was the warmest it was going to get in the near future so it was basically now or never.

"Where exactly are we going?" Steve asked from the foyer as he yanked on a knit cap and gloves.

Bucky just pointed, not wanting to give enough away that Steve would change his mind before they even got outdoors.

Rogers looked like he wanted to ask for more but he just nodded and led the way down to the main floor and out the door. Bucky grimaced as the moment snow started to land against his exposed skin but forced a smile on his face: this wasn't about him, this was about giving Steve the snow experience he never had as a kid.

"What are we doing exactly?"

Bucky shrugged. From what he remembered, kids made snowmen or snow angels and had snowball fights and basically ran around until they were exhausted or had to go to the bathroom.

"We're out here to have fun. Like we used to." Bucky paused a moment. "Or like we would have done if you would have been healthier."

Steve turned around to stare at Bucky who quickly backpedalled. "We don't have to. I just thought it might be...well, fun," he trailed off, adding a half-shrug.

Rogers still hadn't spoken but unless Barnes was having a seizure, his expression was wobbling slightly. After a second, Steve huffed out a soft laugh. "Yeah, yeah Buck, that's be fun. What did you want to do first?"

Bucky plastered an overzealous grin on his face and began to kick snow into a pile. Rogers caught the drift and quickly leaned over, working the snow into a ball. Between the two of them, they managed to form the slush into a semi-decent sphere for the base.

Steve seemed to be having fun putting his artistic abilities to use but Bucky was becoming more and more irritated by the cold as it worked its way past his many layers and melted near his skin. He had been focusing on a particularly cold drop that was dripping down his spine when he felt something cold smash against his face.

_He was in a metal case, screaming, cursing, spitting, his hands clawing at the small window. A round face appeared and Bucky's rage increased. He smashed his metal fist into the side of the case without any luck in getting it to warp._

" _Zis will be much easier if you relax, Sargeant," the man stated, his 's's soft and drawn out._

_Bucky responded with a phrase that would have gotten his mouth washed out as a kid._

_He heard a small hiss and looked up to see a cloud descending on him. He dropped to the ground when he felt the cool air touch his scalp, burying his head into his elbow. He kicked at the base seams, trying to get them to give as the cloud descended. His lungs were burning but he refused to breathe in, not knowing what the gas was laced with._

" _Resistance is futile," the voice said again. "But compliance will be rewarded."_

_Bucky replied with the same phrase as earlier, much to the man's chagrin, then buried his head deeper into his sleeve, preserving his last few drops of oxygen. Another minute passed by achingly slow, the man watching him intently as the tinted gas swirled around his body. Eventually his lungs began to burn and survival instincts took over. His grip slacked and he inhaled, the icy air driving straight into his lungs and spreading, stealing away any oxygen he'd hoped he could bring in._

_And the cold only spread from there, radiating outwards, to his fingers, his toes, his brain._

Shit, I knew this was a bad idea

_Cold...too cold._

Bucky, are you with me

_He could feel his body shutting down system by system._

Bucky

_He lost control over his limbs, his joints. Soon he couldn't move his legs or hips._

Bucky

_It was almost back to his lungs now and he dreaded the feeling when they would stop, when he couldn't bring in any air, even this poisoned one._

A man screaming "Bucky!" at the top of his lungs was the last thing the Soldier heard before he lost consciousness.

* * *

When Barnes came back to himself, he was lying on his back on what felt like a couch, judging by the small split he felt right above his hips. Feigning unconsciousness as he'd learned to do many years ago, he twitched his wrists and ankles, not feeling any restraints wrapped around them.

"He's coming around," he heard a kind, familiar voice say.

_That sounded like Bruce_. Willing to give this situation the benefit of the doubt, Barnes opened his eyes to see a group of concerned faces peering over him, with less space between him and them than he would have liked. He jerked backward, startling both them and him, the force of his motion taking him part way up the armrest until he was in a pseudo-sitting position.

"Welcome back," Bruce, who was the first to recover, said, peering closely at him. "Do you know who you are?"

Bucky nodded, hunching his shoulders to ward off the phantom cold that still lingered. He pulled in a shaky inhale then responded, "James Buchanan Barnes."

Sam must have seen the motion for he grabbed a thick blanket off a chair and held it out to Barnes, who took it with hands that were meant to be steady but shook all the same. He wrapped it tightly around himself and breathed in deeply, letting the familiar scents ground him.

"Do you know who _we_ are?" Bruce asked, motioning to the rest of the people huddled around him.

Bucky nodded again. "Avengers," he replied.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Base," Bucky managed before his body was wracked with a shiver.

Now it was Banner's turn to nod. "Do you remember what happened?" the physicist quietly continued, his hands out in what was meant to be a pacifying gesture.

"Outside in the snow," Bucky said slowly, grimacing as remnants of the flashback flew through his conscious again. "Building a snowman." A frickin' evil snowman. He mentally revoked any ideas he'd had about this being a good idea and slouched down on the sofa until his head was at the same level as his tented knees.

"After that?"

Bucky shook his head. "Back...at Hydra," was all he said, his teeth chattering anew. He didn't feel like elaborating and luckily they didn't press.

After a second, he stared more intently at the people surrounding him. "Where's Steve?"

Within seconds, he heard running and his friend appeared in the doorway, practically exuding stress from every pore. "I'm so sorry Bucky," he said as he moved closer at a breakneck speed, arms held wide.

Before they could make contact, Banner reached out and batted Steve's arms away, shooting him a look. Steve realized what he had done and stopped, arms dropping uselessly to his side.

Bucky carefully worked himself into a completely upright position then quickly readjusted the blankets so he wouldn't lose an ounce of body head. "Wasn't your fault," he mumbled to Steve.

Steve shook his head. "Yeah it was. I just got caught up in the moment and threw a snowball at you. I should have known better."

Natasha stepped closer to take a better look at Bucky. "What were you doing outside anyway?" she questioned, stealing the hat from Rogers' head and pulling it down over Bucky's.

Barnes had only a second to wonder where his own hat had gone, simultaneously being grateful for the new warmth around his head, before Rogers spoke up. "It was my present," he began. If Bucky's eyes weren't deceiving him, Rogers' baby blues were getting a little misty, as if he might actually cry. "Playing in the snow was never something I got to do as a kid for obvious reasons."

Natasha looked back at Barnes. "That was dumb," she said in Russian.

Bucky fired back a retort that his mother would have hated; fortunately Natasha just grinned. "But honorable," she added with a knowing smirk before she disappeared from the room.

Rogers quickly dropped to his knees in the space she had just vacated, concern etched deeply in his expression.

Bucky knew that emotion was there because of him and he hated it—hated that he'd reacted that way to a snowball and hated that it had made his friends worry. As upset as he was though, there was a small of him that knew he'd made it almost a year without a conscious incident so, all things considered, he was doing fairly well. Unfortunately, that part of his brain was quickly overrun with _feelings_ brought on by an overwhelming outpouring of concern from his friends.

"I'm sorry I freaked out," Barnes mumbled into the knot of blanket corners huddled at his throat.

Steve's jaw clenched. "You don't ever have to be sorry for that," he vowed and the rest of the team nodded firmly.

After a pause, Steve opened his arms again, this time more slowly and predictably. "Permission to hug?" he asked without an ounce of sarcasm. A while back, Sam had instructed them all to respect the personal space of any member of a team coming out a flashback, knowing that physical contact wasn't always the answer no matter how good the intention. He'd also informed all of them that they, at any time, did in fact have the right to refuse if they weren't comfortable with the idea.

Bucky thought about it for a moment, then nodded. Steve smiled uneasily then wrapped his arms around his friend, pulling him close. Not caring at all what it looks like, Bucky buried his head against Steve's neck, feeling the rays of superwarmth radiating off his friend finally do some damage against the cold threatening to swallow him whole.

After a few long, wonderful moments, Steve pulled back just far enough so he could look Bucky in the eye. "Unless I can somehow talk you out of the presents brigade, I think we can safely eliminate any potential ideas that have to do with snow."

Bucky choked out a laugh then sat back against the couch. Natasha appeared at that same instant, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. She handed it off to him and he took a long pull of the piping hot liquid. "I'll think of something," he rasped, feeling the wonderful burn of warmth travel down his esophagus.

Steve rolled his eyes then sighed and pulled himself onto the couch beside Barnes.

"I don't doubt it."

Bucky took another long drink of tea and, when he looked up, he found everyone still staring at him.

"I'm fine," he growled but, not surprisingly, none of them looked convinced.

"You know what's gonna happen next, don't you Bucky?" Sam spoke up. Barnes shook his head acceptingly, remembering what had happened on the anniversary of Pietro's passing. The team had settled down in the common room, close enough to touch shoulders, and watched as many films and eaten as much junk food as possible. Sam had started the tradition, swearing it was guaranteed to muffle almost any blues. So far, he hadn't been wrong.

"JARVIS?" Steve asked the ceiling.

"Pizza is on its way."

"Good," Steve slouched down in his seat slightly, his shoulder never leaving Bucky's. "So, what do you want to watch?"

* * *

For his own mental health, Bucky put aside all Christmas-related things for the next week and focused solely on work. When he no longer felt panic begin to rise at the thought of cold, he cautiously reapproached Steve's present. Steve and Natasha had unfortunately been correct—prolonged time in the snow was still a little too much for him to handle. He was still convinced the overall idea wasn't bad though: giving Steve the chance to experience something he'd had missed out on as a child.

If he'd planned this better, there were lots of things they could do in the summertime: Coney Island (hopefully without the addition of the Vomit Comit), a baseball game, et cetera, but nooooo, he'd had to realize this idea in the middle of freakin' winter when nothing good was open...Did he already mention how much he hated the snow?

But, like he'd told Steve, he would think of something—from what he could remember, he'd always been a rather determined fellow. With that slight bit of assurance, he began looking up old restaurants they could have never afforded; unfortunately, the one that was still open had a wait list into next year. Disappointed, Bucky threw himself down on the couch and yanked a pillow over his eyes, pinning it in place with his metal arm.

This was a disaster. Maybe he should just give Steve a rain check until next spring when they could do all the things he'd thought of.

A few moments later, he heard footsteps approaching and knew from the flowery scent that it was Wanda.

"Can you breathe under there?" she asked when she had stepped into the room. Under the edge of the pillow, he could see her crouching down beside him.

"Yup," Bucky responded. He sighed then began to shrug himself into a sitting position, so they could have a proper conversation.

"Do not move on my account," Wanda said, flopping down on the floor beneath him and mimicking his position, throwing her arm over her eyes. "So what are you thinking about?"

"Steve." Despite her request, Bucky sat up fully and leaned forward so he could look at her. As if sensing this, she threw her arm off her face and propped herself up on her elbows.

"About his gift?"

Bucky knew better than to ask how she knew about that. Since Ultron, she'd been spending a lot of time overseas helping rebuild her city. She had only recently moved to the States and declared her desire to become an Avenger. They hadn't spent much time together as her time, like his had been, was spent passing SHIELD's proficiency exams.

"You heard about the snow incident," he stated.

It was her turn to nod. "It is a good idea though, giving him something he did not have."

Bucky was just quiet, not sure how to respond.

"However, I also think it might be good to do something new," she ventured slowly. "Most of the things I wanted to do as a child in Sokovia no longer exist. I had to make new memories there with new people. They do not replace the old, of course, but they were exciting all the same."

Bucky stared silently at her as he processed this information and she looked away, subconsciously, as if unsure if she had been right to speak up.

"I hadn't thought of that," he said slowly and she looked up in surprise.

"Thanks Wanda," he said, absently rolling back onto the couch, his mind swirling with possibilities. Instead of reliving all the things Steve had missed out on, they could focus on things the future offered that they never would have dreamed of. Given that Steve had been here longer though, Bucky was going to have to have his input before he drew out a plan—he didn't want to include things Steve had already accomplished.

"What is the phrase? Oh...no problem," she said the last part without her normal accent and Bucky chuckled. "I will leave you to your planning."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pull herself to her feet but, instead of walking away, she hesitated like she had some original purpose for coming in here.

"Do you need something?" he questioned, purposefully working to ensure the question didn't sound gruff. After all, she had just given him a major breakthrough in Steve's gift.

"Perhaps if you have time...you could help me with my small weapons training?" she asked shyly.

Bucky rolled his head to the right in order to look directly at her. "Sure."

She let out a sigh of relief. "Wonderful. I do not suppose we could start tomorrow? My examination is in two weeks."

"I'll see you on the range at nine," Bucky said.

As she smiled then walked away, Bucky pulled out his phone and immediately began to Google modern things to do in the surrounding area.

* * *

It was late when Steve walked back into their apartment a few days later. Juggling two gallons of milk, he managed to deposit his shield in the entryway before heading toward the kitchen, where he flipped the light switch with his elbow. He recoiled as he saw someone was sitting at the dining room table out of the corner of his eye and held up the milk gallons ready to use them as a club if necessary.

As he spun around, he recognized the man and slowly lowered the gallons. "Bucky?" he asked softly, seeing the pensive expression on his friend's face.

Now it was Bucky's turn to be startled as he snapped back to reality. "Hey Steve," he said, shaking his head quickly back and forth. "When did you get home?"

"Twenty seconds ago." Steve put down the gallons of milk and leaned forward slightly so he could better examine his friend. "Whatcha thinkin' about?"

"Good things," Bucky replied immediately, his eyes lighting up slightly in truth.

Now that he knew his friend hadn't been caught in the midst of another flashback, Steve walked into the kitchen and slid the milk into the fridge. "What's all that?" he asked, motioning with his elbow toward the papers Bucky had strewn out around him.

Bucky blinked at the mess then quickly shuffled the papers into one pile. He took a deep breath then said, "I want to talk to you about something."

Suspecting this was about his Christmas present, Steve walked over and sat down next to his friend. "Sure, what's up?"

Bucky's face darkened slightly then he muttered, "I think it's pretty obvious I don't know what to get you."

"I told you Buck," Steve began, reaching out and laying a hand on his friend's flesh shoulder. "I appreciate the thought but I don't need anything."

"I heard you the first time Rogers," Bucky scowled, "that's what's making this so difficult." He took another deep inhale then continued, "I thought it would be good for you to do something you weren't able to do in the past, like…" he shrugged with one shoulder, knowing Steve would know that he was referring to the snow incident. "But Wanda gave me a variation on that idea. Unfortunately, I'll need your help working out the exact details so it won't be a surprise." He looked over at Steve. "Is that okay?"

Steve quickly nodded, before this uncertain Bucky could read anything into a possible hesitation. "Sure, Buck. What did you have in mind?"

Bucky held out the sheath of papers. "These are a list of the things I found that weren't around when we were kids or would have been far too expensive for us to consider."

Steve began flipping through the pages seeing "sightseeing", "roller derby", "sushi", "football game", "wine and painting", "Cards Against Humanity", "concert", the names of a few restaurants or establishments that had been open back in their day, and more.

"Unfortunately, I don't know what all you've done before I got here," Bucky continued, looking down at the stack.

Without responding, Steve put down the sheets and disappeared into his room where he pulled a small notebook out of his running shorts. He walked back to a very confused Bucky and held out the booklet.

Barnes accepted it cautiously and began flipping through it, realization dawning very quickly. "You've been keeping a list too?"

Steve sat back down and nodded. "Every time someone tells me I need to do, see, or listen to something, I write it down."

When Bucky hit the last page, he glanced up. "There's not a lot crossed off here, Rogers," he stated, his voice tinted with an accusation.

Steve just shrugged. "I've been busy."

For some reason, Bucky looked almost disappointed with that answer. A second later though, the expression was gone, replaced by one of thoughtful contemplation. "So my original thought was that we pick a few of these and try them out."

"Just to be clear," Steve interlaced his fingers and rested his hands on the table, leaning forward slightly. "My present is to spend the day with you exploring the wonders of the future."

Bucky nodded firmly but then looked uncomfortable. "Is that okay? Cos I can think of something else—"

"Bucky," Steve interjected, a genuine smile on his lips. "I think that's fantastic."

* * *

They spent the next hour sorting through Bucky's notebook and Steve's list. Eventually, they settled on two items: a Nets game and sushi.

The first one had been relatively easy enough to decide. When they were young, their entire focus had been on baseball and they'd never even tried to get into another major sporting event. Given that it was the wrong season for baseball (and that the Dodgers had betrayed them and moved to LA), they'd settled on a basketball game because 1) it was indoors, 2) they both knew enough about basketball to make the game enjoyable and 3) the team was local.

Unlike the other presents, this one was going to cost Barnes a bit of money, which was technically mission incompatible, but he figured that was alright in this case since, if Rogers were to be believed, just spending some quality time with him was the actual present. However, given all that he'd done for Bucky, the former assassin wanted the gift to be more than than just a regular night at home watching movies. Steve had offered to pay for his ticket but Bucky had steadfastly refused, citing that if he did so, Steve would have to let him pay rent. That had ended the discussion almost instantly.

Trying sushi had caused much more deliberation.

"Sushi's been on your list for an awfully long time," Bucky had commented, paging again through the notebook to cross-check with his own sheets.

Steve had just shrugged. "To be honest, the idea of eating raw fish isn't real appealing to me."

Bucky had immediately moved cross off the offending item but Steve caught his hand. "Which is why we should try it. Branch out, you know? It can't be that bad if everyone keeps raving about it."

Bucky still wasn't quite convinced that Steve was really onboard with this idea but he decided to give his friend the benefit of the doubt. "Okay then, sushi it is."

Once the "what" had been decided, they moved on to the "when". It turned out that the Nets didn't have many home games in early winter so they'd have to go the first Sunday in December. It was an early afternoon game so they'd have plenty of time to get sushi afterwards. They'd scoped out the restaurants around the Barclays Center and found a sushi place close by with high reviews.

With all that settled, all they had to do was wait for the weekend. The week seemed to go on for forever but eventually it was Sunday, December 2nd. The men left their apartment around one o'clock and caught the subway to the center. They had to go through security once they got to the Center but, with Bucky wearing the holoskin, they were able to pass it off as a metal bone replacement. Besides, his stress levels were immensely lowered by Rogers who looked as excited as Bucky felt.

On the way to their seats, they passed a concession stand and Bucky had to rub his eyes to make sure he was reading the prices right. "Do you see that?" he gaped when he was able to get his mouth working. As he was turning to have Steve verify that there were in fact two digits before the decimal point of most of the prices, a large popcorn, a hotdog and a drink were shoved into his hands.

"When in Rome," Steve said with a wide grin.

Bucky opened his mouth to protest, both the cost and the fact that Steve had bought it, but Steve just shook his head. "We're here for the full experience," he retorted as he inhaled a handful of the buttery popcorn. Seconds later, his eyes widened and he dove for his straw, taking a long pull of soda. "No matter how salty some of the experience may be," he finished with a cough.

After grabbing extra napkins, they maneuvered their way to their section, Bucky vainly trying to avoid into bumping into anyone in the crowd while not spilling his concessions. After that, they had to be just as focused on getting to the middle of the aisle without accidentally sitting on anyone. Needless to say, Bucky was more than a little grateful when they finally dropped into their seats and had their drinks settled in the cup holders. As the deep focus began to subside, he was able to look around and realize their seats were pretty decent, considering how late they'd been purchased: they were in the bottom section just over halfway back, catty-corner to one of the hoops.

Steve and Bucky sat in an amicable silence, munching on their concessions, while the teams warmed up. Today, the Nets were playing the Phoenix Suns and the announcer had the gall to tell them the current temperature in Phoenix. It was warm enough there to make Bucky seriously consider a move.

"What he isn't mentioning is that Phoenix also averages 106 in July," the woman behind them snorted.

Bucky really wasn't seeing how that was a problem: a triple-digit temperature sounded pretty good to him at the moment.

Just then the announcer came on the air and informed them of the playing of the National Anthem. Both he and Steve removed their caps and stood, while listening to a high school a capella choir perform beautifully.

When they had finished, the starting line-up for the Suns was announced, then the arena was plunged into blackness, lights dancing around the seats as the Nets lineup was proudly proclaimed. If anyone noticed how four arm rests were dented during the surprise blackout, they knew better than to mention it.

After the tip off, time flew in a mix of fouls, picks, rebounds, turnovers, and a Hail Mary three-pointer for the Nets to win the game, 83-81.

"Well what did you think?" Bucky asked as they joined the mob shuffling out of their seats.

"Not as relaxing as baseball," Rogers said, stretching his hands over his head, "but fun all the same."

Bucky steadfastly agreed.

When they finally got out of the Center, they walked around the right side of the building until they hit a crosswalk then followed the road down to the sushi place.

Unfortunately the restaurant was very busy. While they waited in line, the hostess walked by and handed them a copy of the menu, in order to speed up the table turnover. Bucky personally was full of overpriced popcorn and other concessions so he wasn't particularly hungry. He glanced right and saw a similar expression on Steve's face, his face slightly green at the prospect of more food.

"You sure about this, Steve?" Bucky asked.

Rogers met his gaze then shook his head. "No."

"Let's just go then," Barnes said, vacating his spot in line, handing the menu to the people who had stepped in behind them.

They'd walked back a block before Steve said, "Wait, Bucky, it's too early to go home."

"We didn't have anything else planned, Steve."

Rogers just grinned. "We'll make it up as we go along." He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped on it with the special gloves Tony had designed years ago and never mass-produced because the board had been convinced they were useless. "Gimme a minute."

Barnes waited as he was asked, though he bounced on his heels and rubbed his hands up and down his arms in an attempt to signal that a change of plans outdoors in the middle of New York in December probably wasn't the best of ideas.

Thankfully, it was only seconds later that a wicked grin broke over Steve's face. "I have just the thing."

"I don't like where this is headed," Bucky countered.

"Trust me," Rogers said and, as much as he sometimes didn't want to, Bucky did.

They walked two blocks deeper into the city before Steve stopped dead in his tracks. "This is it!" he exclaimed, pointing to the sign in the front of the closest establishment. Bucky followed the gesture with his eyes and shook his head wildly when he saw the sign.

"No."

Steve nodded. "Yes."

"No," Bucky repeated more insistently. He didn't remember much about his childhood but unfortunately he was stuck with a crystal clear memory of the screeching that had passed as singing from a pre-serum Steve.

"Yes!" Steve shot back.

"It's a terrible idea."

"It's a great idea and it's something we've never done before. Natasha and Clint swear by it."

Dammit, Rogers had a point. "You really want to go in there?" Bucky asked, really hoping Steve would say no but, of course, his friend just nodded.

"We don't have to stay for very long…" Rogers was quick to offer.

Bucky rolled his eyes then nodded. "Fine," he quietly grumbled.

Steve grinned widely then lead the way into the karaoke bar.

The man on stage was just finishing up a pop song Bucky was only vaguely familiar with as he and Steve wandered around until they found an empty table.

"So how does this work?" Bucky asked as he sat down and shed his outer coat in the extreme warmth of the bar. Perhaps this wouldn't be so terrible after all.

Steve shrugged. "I have no idea." He held up his hand when a woman dressed in all black wearing a small apron tied around her hips walked by. "Hi," he said, shooting her his most winning smile. "We're new here. How do we—?"

"When the mic is free, just tell Ed what you want to sing," she thumbed over her shoulder at the man hunched over in front of a computer. "There's a binder floating around with the options."

"Great, thanks!"

It took them a few moments to find said binder and about ten after that for the people using it to make their own decisions.

Bucky found his selection almost immediately but then flipped to a new page when Steve tried to see what it was. Bucky still wasn't too keen on this idea but if it was what Steve really wanted to do, he could find it in himself to embarrass himself in front of a room full of people.

Rogers made a face but then took the binder and paged intently through it while a woman nailed a cover of 'How Will I Know?'. His face lit up as he found a worth option but, just as Bucky had done, slammed the binder closed before his friend could see what it was.

When the mic was free, Bucky tilted his head at Steve. "You first."

Steve shrugged. "All right," he said as he walked over to Ed and asked for his selection. The man sighed disinterested but tapped on the keyboard and pointed at the mic when he was done.

"For the third time tonight, 'Don't Stop Believing'," Ed announced into his own mic as Steve walked on stage. Rogers immediately looked flustered and his face turned a slight shade of red. "I didn't know you'd played it already," he said to Ed, clamping his hand over the microphone. "I can change it."

"Too late," Ed grunted as the opening bars sounded from the speakers. Rogers looked so unsure that Bucky had to fight down the urge to knock some manners into the emcee. Instead, he channeled all his emotion into a death glare that Ed unfortunately never saw.

"Bucky," Steve hissed. Barnes tore his gaze away to shrug at his friend, knowing Steve was going to ask what he should do.

"Just sing," he shouted to be heard over the music.

Steve nodded, still looking uncertain, but did begin to sing. Bucky just about fell out of his chair in surprise: his friend was not only on key, but on pitch and didn't sound completely terrible.

The other people in the room who had been casually paying attention, mostly just waiting for Steve to be done so they could sing their own songs, began tuning in intently, one even pulling out their phone to film Steve.

When the song was over, there was more than the smattering of applause that Bucky had heard for some of the other singers. Someone from the corner even whooped loudly.

Steve just smiled then hopped off the stage.

"When did you learn to sing?" Bucky demanded as soon as Steve sat down, his cheeks now flushed with excitement, not embarrassment.

"The serum apparently fixed my messed-up vocal cords," Steve responded brightly, running a scale for good measure.

"All this time you've known you can sing like that?"

Steve shrugged. "It all sounded good to me, even back in the day. But Nat overheard me once when I was waiting for the new recruits to show up—in my defense, I thought I was alone. She's the one who said I wasn't half bad."

Bucky shook his head at his friend. "That's not fair."

Now it was Steve's turn to look surprised. "What do you mean? You always had the better voice."

"Yeah, because my competition was zilch." Bucky shook his head. "Okay, you've had your fun. Let's go."

"C'mon Buck, don't be like that. Sing at least the one you picked out."

"I'm not going to sound like you just did, Rogers."

"It's not a competition Buck. It's just supposed to be fun."

"Embarrassing myself in front of a roomful of strangers isn't going to be fun," Bucky retorted hotly, suddenly over this whole idea. It would have been different if they would have been terrible together but now that Steve had shown he really could sing, there was no incentive for Bucky to go up there with his absolutely terrible pop selection.

"Just one song," Steve begged. "Please?" And the little bastard proceeded to make the face he knew Bucky had never been able to resist.

Dammit all.

Cursing under his breath, Bucky marched up to where Ed was sitting and said, "'Firework'," in one blast of air.

"Excuse me?" the man replied, actually looking away from his computer to make eye contact with Bucky.

"'Firework'. Katy Perry. You have it?"

"I do." The man slowly moved his mouse, clicked on the selection and dragged it into the queue. "You're up next," he said in the same tone one would use to humor a crotchety octogenarian.

Barnes hauled himself onto the stage and looked directly at Steve. "If you laugh at me, I will never speak to you again."

Steve nodded solemnly as the opening bars of his song started. Bucky got a few snickers but quickly shut them down with the glare he'd been saving for Ed.

When he too was finished (thankfully Ed had picked an abbreviated version), he climbed down from the stage and over to Steve who was clapping slowly.

"Not bad at all Bucky," Steve said, a wide grin on his face and Bucky groaned, knowing that this wasn't going to go away anytime soon. "I'm surprised you were able to hit all of those notes."

"Consider that your Christmas present paid in full," Bucky mumbled as he stormed out of the bar. Steve threw down a few bucks as tip for the waitress who'd brought them waters then quickly followed.

"You could have just led with that," he said offhandedly as they headed toward the subway.

Bucky stopped in his tracks. "You're saying you didn't like the game!"

Steve was quick to respond, "I loved the game, really. Basketball sure has changed a lot from what I remember... _but..."_

"Here we go again," Barnes mumbled, turning away and picking up the pace toward the station.

"...it had nothing on your performance in there," Rogers continued undeterred.

"Okay, we're done talking."

Steve took the hint and stopped...until they got just outside the stairway, where he grabbed Bucky's arm and turned him so they were facing each other.

"Seriously," Steve began, "I had a great time today, trying new things, spending time with you outside of SHIELD. It was a lot of fun—I can't thank you enough."

"You're welcome," Bucky replied sourly, the karaoke experience still present in his mind.

"But you know you didn't have to do any of that. I meant what I said last week. You coming back here, wanting to be part of my life again, that's the greatest present the future had to offer."

Bucky honestly didn't know how to respond around the lump in his throat, his resentment about the karaoke instantly drying up. Recognizing this, Steve just slung at arm over his friend's shoulder, pulling him close.

And suddenly Bucky found he didn't mind the snow so much, the cold wind against his face. He was filled with a warmth that started deep within his chest, a warmth he'd worked hard to regain, a warmth that wasn't going to be put out anytime soon. In that moment, he was struck by the revelation that he'd done the unthinkable—he'd turned his back on his Hydra training and built a new family who accepted him for what he'd done and supported him in his future.

No matter what he did, with these people around him, he knew he would always have a home.

* * *

**Epilogue 1**

Even though his gift to Steve was technically completed, Bucky still didn't like how there had been something on the original list they hadn't accomplished. Therefore, two weeks later, he coerced his friend into trying sushi for lunch. This time though, he was prepared: he'd already asked Clint and Natasha who were apparently quite the sushi connoisseurs what would be good for newcomers to try. It'd taken them about a day, but they'd eventually come back with not only a list but also a specific restaurant and time to go. Apparently the food was discounted during something called a "Happy Hour" which meant they could try more things for their dime...or dollar, given the incredible inflation he still wasn't quite used to.

"Are you sure about this Buck?" Steve questioned for the umpteenth, as they stood outside the restaurant window, reading the menu taped to the glass.

"Yes. We're trying something new, Rogers," he announced as he grabbed Steve's wrist and marched into the restaurant.

They were seated at a two-person table in the back Bucky didn't think anything of it until he overheard the hostess giggling fiendishly with her coworkers, shooting them occasional, swift glances.

He turned back to Steve who has holding his menu gingerly, like it might explode.

"Steve, you're kinda sucking the fun out of this. I can try this later by myself."

Rogers had the decency to look ashamed. "I'm sorry Buck. I'm still just a little concerned."

"If it wasn't safe, they wouldn't feed it to you."

Just then the waitress, a lovely girl named Nia, came by and took their drink orders. Before she could leave, Bucky announced, "we're ready," and pulled the list from his pocket. He was sure he mispronounced at least four of the things but the waitress just politely corrected him before scurrying off.

"You're right," Steve said, forcing a smile onto his face. It was faker than Bucky would have liked but it would suffice for now.

They chatted about their week until Nia returned with their food. Bucky tried one of each with no reservations, truly enjoying the different flavors, textures and spices. Steve did the same but with a little more hesitancy.

"You don't like it, do you?" Bucky asked, shoving another piece of maki into his mouth.

Steve shrugged indifferently. "It's alright, just not—"

Before he could finish, Nia stopped by their table again and dropped off another dish.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Steve began.

"Yes?" she said, spinning back around to face them.

"We didn't order this."

The woman nodded. "I know. It's covered."

"By whom?"

Suddenly both their phones buzzed. They looked down to see a text from Natasha with three words: _Just try it._

Steve and Bucky instantly scanned the restaurant seeing no one matching Natasha's build in sight. "How did she know?" Steve hissed to his friend.

Their phones buzzed again: _Don't ask questions, Rogers. Just eat it._

"Do you need anything else?" Nia asked, unfazed by the display in front of her.

"I guess not. Thanks," Bucky said, fixing her with a wide grin.

"Well?" he said, turning back to Steve.

His friend shrugged resignedly then popped a section of the new roll into his mouth. His eyes widened and he sat slightly more upright. "That's really good!" he declared, excitedly going back for another.

"What is it?" Bucky asked the ceiling.

_Las Vegas roll. All cooked. Deep-fried._ came the texted response a few second later.

He raised his hand and Nia walked by on her next round. "What can I do for you?"

"Another Las Vegas roll," Bucky said, given that Steve had already almost demolished the first one. "Actually better make that two."

"Of course, sir," Nia said, scribbling it down on their ticket.

"Did you want to try one?" Steve asked, motioning toward the last piece of the Las Vegas roll.

Bucky shook his head. "Nah, I've got the rest of this," he said, motioning to the plates that Rogers had rejected.

They both cleaned their plates in a manner that would have made their Depression-era mothers proud. Before they left half an hour later though, Bucky made sure to note which of the sushi items he'd loved, so he could add them to his ever-growing list of things he really, really liked about the future.

* * *

**Epilogue 2 (by request!)**

Bucky was sitting in the common room of Avengers Tower the morning of December 23rd, waiting for the rest of the team to arrive. Once again, the Avengers were celebrating Christmas early so some of them could spend the actual holiday with their real families.

He was flipping through the channels, settling on the 25 Days of Christmas movie marathon on ABC Family when the entire team walked in, dressed in their winter gear.

"Get your stuff," Clint ordered, grabbing the remote and flicking off the television. "We're going out."

Bucky stared questioningly at Steve who just nodded, his eyes closing slightly, reassuring Bucky that this was going to be a good thing. After a brief hesitation, Barnes climbed to his feet and pulled on an assortment of winter gear, probably more than he actually needed. Much to the team's credit, they chose not to comment on it.

The team took the elevator down to the basement where they climbed into a SI car, driven by none other than Happy Hogan.

"Merry Christmas!" he declared as they all climbed in, a crooked elf's hat with a mistletoe pompom on his head.

"And to you too," Natasha replied for the team, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

"Where exactly are we going?" Barnes asked, interrupting the scene.

"It's a surprise," they all said, almost in unison.

Bucky scowled, knowing that they all knew he didn't like surprises. Sam reached over and tapped the back of his hand. "It'll be fine, don't worry."

Ten minutes later, Happy pulled the car to a stop and Bucky scrubbed his gloved hand against the foggy window to reveal a coffee shop.

"We have coffee back at the tower," he stated.

"Yes, we do," Tony commented as he climbed out of the car. The rest of the team followed suit and hurried into the small shop.

As Bucky walked through the door, he heard a woman gasp. "Bucky?" a familiar voice questioned.

Barnes spun around, his gaze landing on an elderly woman. He recognized the shape of her face, the slant of her eyes, the curl of her now-white hair.

"Rebecca?" he asked, his voice breaking in his throat.

Suddenly she was next to him wrapping her arms around him, crying into his shoulder. "I thought I'd never see you again."

On the verge of tears himself, Bucky looked over at the team. "How? Why?"

Surprisingly, it was Tony who spoke up. "All you did for us this last year—it was too much. So we wanted you to have something you gave us: an experience, a meeting, something lost from your past."

Unable to find words, Bucky just nodded, wrapping his arms tighter around his sister. "Thank you," she said to the team, on both of their behalf.

"We'll leave you two alone," Steve said after a moment.

Still locked in their embrace, the siblings heard the bell ding as the Avengers filed out of the coffee shop, leaving Bucky alone with his sister.

After over seventy years of being apart, they'd have quite a lot to talk about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, as they say, is that. Thanks for sticking with us on this incredible journey. We both were blown away by your wonderful support.
> 
> Also, we know 'Don't Stop Believing' is a rather cliche karaoke song (please forgive us) but we were going for a reference to another Chris Evans character.
> 
> We all hope you have a wonderful day and enjoy the Civil War which we are headed off to see now. Here's hoping we all survive this movie!


End file.
